


Coming Back to Life Rearranged

by hanyou_elf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/pseuds/hanyou_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><img/><strong>Warnings:</strong> Graphic rape; rape recovery; violence; blood play; torture- psychological, physical, and sexual; ANGST; demons; pre-series AU; Season 1 AU; underage (Sam is 17 for a portion of the fic); incestuous based angst; dubious consent; polyamory (M/M/F); a hopeful ending, but not a happy ending.<br/><strong>Summary:</strong> After Sam was brutally attacked, he left his family behind to try to heal. After finding a place where he can feel safe, history repeats itself and Sam is left trying to pick up the pieces all over again. <strong>Please, heed the warnings.</strong><br/><strong>Author’s notes:</strong> Many, many thanks to lylithj2 for the amazing artwork that she did. Check her out and love on her for it!  Thanks to the Beta of Supreme Excellence, obsidianlace and the mewling quim, zhem1x5 for making this something</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Division Bell

**Warnings:** Graphic rape; rape recovery; violence; blood play; torture- psychological, physical, and sexual; ANGST; demons; pre-series AU; Season 1 AU; underage (Sam is 17 for a portion of the fic); incestuous based angst; dubious consent; polyamory (M/M/F); a hopeful ending, but not a happy ending.  
 **Summary:** After Sam was brutally attacked, he left his family behind to try to heal. After finding a place where he can feel safe, history repeats itself and Sam is left trying to pick up the pieces all over again. **Please, heed the warnings.**  
 **Author’s notes:** Many, many thanks to for the amazing artwork that she did. Check her out and love on her for it! Title and divider titles inspired by different Pink Floyd songs. Incredible thanks to the Supreme Excellence of Beta Brilliance (or obsidianlace) for the beta. And to the mewling quim for the beta work (because i’m a comma whore!) and the constant hand holding that helped me get this thing finished. Any residual mistakes are all my own. Thanks to the mods for hosting.  
 **Link to Art:**[lylithj2’s Amazing Artwork](http://lylithj2.livejournal.com/49164.html)

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

**The Division Bell**

Sam (never Sammy except with Dean) Winchester just wanted to be like other boys his age. He didn’t want to move around so much. He didn’t want to have to come up with unique cover stories that made him look as normal as the next boy, even if that was the furthest thing from the truth. Sam wanted to settle down and have roots so that when he left to go to college, he could have something familiar to come home too.

But the transient lifestyle was something unique to hunters. The secrecy, the cover stories, and the rabid paranoia that seemed part and parcel of the lifestyle were all things he had quickly become used to. But he wanted more. He wanted something different. He wanted peace and safety and security. To know that if he wanted to leave to go to a friend’s house (assuming he could make friends) that he wouldn’t have to follow a strict regime of precautionary protocols that made it not worth the effort.

He wanted the carefree attitude that Dean seemed born with. His brother lived for following their dad’s rules and thrived in breaking them. Not any of the serious ones that had to do with overall safety and security, just the ones that had to do with proper behavior in society. Dean was given pretty much free range, as long as he didn’t knock some girl up or come home with something Ajax couldn’t get off he could do whatever with whoever he wanted.

Sam rebelled differently. He didn’t want to stand out or create problems for their dad. He wanted to be like everyone else in some way, especially because girls weren’t his thing. Not really. He hadn’t found the heat that Dean had explained when dealing with girls. It had been focused on the boys. On jocks and nerds. Nothing seemed hotter to him than a flat chest and firm ass. And he couldn’t tell anyone about it.

His father preferred to know and be around manly men. He wanted his sons to be strong and independent and free thinkers. He didn’t want fairies, as he’d constantly called gay men. And Sam just wanted to be normal, so he could know for sure. Dean told him there were a lot of girls out there who would love to have some of Sammy. Sam didn’t have the heart to tell him that he would’ve preferred his own brother to any of the girls- which was a different set of issues that Sam would have preferred to not have to deal with.

Tonight was his chance. He was going to go out to a party. Dean was going to be out of the small apartment they rented and dad was long gone on some hunt or another. Sam didn’t have to stay home. He was going to the party and he was going to flirt with Mark, who had been getting close to him, and he was going to see if this was just what he wanted. Mark was cute. He was tall and strong, the Varsity QB. He was lithe and always seemed to be poured into his jersey and jeans. Sam was constantly fighting wood when Mark was around and it was embarrassing at seventeen.

And Mark was around a lot. On top of being the head jock, he was crazy smart and in all of Sam’s advanced classes.

Sam knew that he wasn’t ugly. He knew that he was well muscled and fairly attractive. He had long limbs and a flat stomach. There were thick muscles in his legs from constant running and his motor control was unmatched, unless there were other hunters to compare to. He could shoot and he could throw knives, and he always carried at least one knife on him.

He blushed to himself as he took in his naked body in the mirror. His dick lay limp between his legs, nestled against his body with wiry brown curls. He’d shaved his legs and wondered if he should’ve shaved his groin completely. He’d shaped it up, so it looked good and orderly, like the men in pornos. He could only hope it was enough.

He turned to get dressed in the outfit he’d picked out for the night. A blue and black plaid kilt that fell to mid-thigh, tall boots that came up to his knees, a pair of black leggings, and a black muscle shirt. He was going for a femme look, to downplay the lines of muscles that his lithe body did nothing to hide. He was well muscled, he knew that. He accepted it and reveled in it. But he didn’t want to intimidate Mark tonight.

He dressed easily. It felt weird, his legs were smooth, and it felt like everything just slid into place. He didn’t put on boxers tonight, he wanted to be daring. He had a pair of black panties, low rise and thin that he pulled on under the kilt. His dick curled up toward his stomach, held in place by the elastic of the waist. He shivered at the feel, surprised at just how comfortable it was. Satisfied with his clothing, he pulled black leggings on before he sat to pull his boots on, only for everything to shift against the cool cotton of the panties. He was going to be hard before he even got to the party. It was both bad and good. He would probably end up embarrassing himself but at the same time, being desperately horny meant that he’d at least have the courage to ask Mark for what he wanted.

He’d just gotten the boots laced up and was standing to leave when the door to the apartment burst open, framing Dean in the dank light of the hallway.

“D-Dean!?” Sam cried in shock and embarrassment.

“Where ya goin’ like that, Sammy?” Dean asked, drawing it out in a voice that was low and dangerous. It was the voice Dean used on witnesses or women he was going to pick up.

“Party.”

“All dressed up like a pretty little girl?” Dean asked with a smirk on his face.

“It’s not… shut up!” Sam shouted. His face flamed in embarrassment and he stalked to the door. He wasn’t going to deal with Dean being an ass. Not tonight. Not when he was going to finally go after what he wanted.

“I got something for pretty little girls,” Dean growled low in his voice.

He stepped into the room with a dark look on his face. When he was chest to chest with Sam, he lashed out. Fists flew and Dean’s leg came up and swept the legs out from beneath Sam’s shocked body. He panicked, searching for the words that proved demonic possession. He hadn’t been allowed to hunt much and he hadn’t been allowed to do much more than basic research pertinent to hunts. He didn’t know the incantations and the protective spells. He thought hard for the exorcism he was supposed to know.

“Pretty little girl,” Dean growled as he shoved Sam against the floor. “All dressed up for me like a pretty little whore.”

“De-Dean?” Sam stuttered. He couldn’t think straight. This couldn’t be happened. Dean wouldn’t do this. It couldn’t be his brother.

“I’m gonna fuck your tight little hole, pretty little whore. All marked and set aside for me.” Dean pulled the back of his skirt up, exposed his covered ass and laughed at what he’d found. “Were you hoping to get fucked then, little girl?”

 _“Ex-exoramus te. Omnis ammundo se. O-omnis satanica protestas,”_ he cried softly, sniffling as he tried to maintain what little composure he had. This wasn’t Dean. It couldn’t be.

“Keep it up, sweetheart,” Dean laughed low and dark in his ear. “I’m not a demon, baby. It’s all me.”

Dean smacked his ass before he pulled the leggings and panties down and pinched the globes of Sam’s ass, pulled them apart. With them parted, Dean gathered the spit in the back of his throat and spat. Sam flinched and clenched his eyes shut at the cold slime of Dean’s saliva as it trailed down the crack of his ass. He struggled. Sam needed to break his brother’s hold on him. He needed escape, freedom. He couldn’t stay like this. He had to get away.

“Y’know. It’s no surprise you disappoint dad so much. You can’t even tell who your own brother is.”

Sam’s rambled exorcism, stuttered Latin he was desperate to get out, didn’t stop flowing until Dean let go of his ass to grab his head by the strands of his overlong hair. With a fistful of his hair, Dean rammed his head into the wall. He repeated the motion twice more and stepped back as Sam crumpled.

He couldn’t move. He could barely think past the ringing in his ears but he felt it when something hard forced its way into his body. He froze in shock, barely breathing as he tried to accommodate the painful intrusion. He couldn’t breathe as more was shoved into his body and more still. It seemed a long eternity before it was gone.

“Poor little girl, just can’t protect herself. And you wonder why dad never lets you do anything, why he always makes me stay here with you instead of letting me go out and get my own experience. I’m always here, with sweet, helpless Samantha,” Dean grunted.

And then, there was more. Dean’s dick pressed against the spit slick opening. He pushed hard into Sam’s body, hard and painful. He trembled at the thick press of flesh within him. The invasion and then the shameful reality of it all as Dean’s dick hit something within him and his body exploded in pleasure. Horrifyingly, he found he was hard.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I’ll take you there, whore.”

There were harder and more powerful thrusts within him and Sam found himself fighting to not enjoy the feel of it. It hurt. He was being torn apart. And then, he was being flooded with hot something, he didn’t know, couldn’t think past the way it felt to have his brother deep in his body. His brother in places he didn’t belong.

The scalding remnant of his brother’s pleasure in having stolen Sam’s virgin body.

But the worst had yet to come. He was turned onto his back and Dean pulled the small silver knife he’d given Sam years before from his hidden ankle sheath and cut away the cotton of the muscle shirt. “My pretty little whore, gotta make sure you remember your place.”

And then he kissed him. Dean’s tongue traced his lips until they parted. Sam shivered as his brother’s tongue searched out the hidden corners, chased his taste. He surrendered to the feeling until fire started low in his gut.

His back arched against Dean and he clawed at the ground. It started at mid-stomach and spread down. Fire raced through his veins and he thought he might pass out. It was a small eternity of pain. Sensation so sharp it bordered on pleasure. Sam sobbed as he fought, shifted side to side as he tried to get away from it all.

But the final straw in it all was Dean’s final gift. As he carved into his stomach, Dean’s hand grazed the hard flesh of his erection and Sam’s back arched as he came hard. He blacked out, his mind lost to the haze of pain, pleasure, and too many overwhelming sensations.

Sam thought he might cry, again. Dean had left after he’d finished. After he’d used him like a whore. Sam had been left curled into a ball in the corner of the bedroom. Blood and semen covered his body.

The worst thing about it all was the fact that Sam had gotten off on it. He’d been hard while he’d been fucked. And while he had used Sam’s once favorite knife to carve into his stomach, Sam had come. Which had only served to prove the point that he was a whore. He shifted, straightening his sore body, and only barely managed to choke back a sob. His hands closed around the hilt of his knife and he trembled as he threw it as far from him as he could. He didn’t want it anywhere near him.

He needed to get cleaned up. He needed to disinfect and bandage the little cuts on his arms and hands and the bigger ones on his stomach. He needed to set up protections and wards. Something- _anything-_ to make him feel safer. As he pushed himself up, fresh tears fell as muscles in both his ass and stomach protested the move. It was only thirteen steps to the bathroom on a normal day. Tonight, Sam could only shuffle along the short stretch of dirty hotel carpet helplessly.

The silver knife he’d kept hidden in his boots needed to be thrown away. The blessed silver blade with its iron accents had been a gift from Dean. And it had turned into something he was terrified of. He didn’t even want to touch it. It lay beside the bed he slept in, covered in his own blood, in his own _filth._ Light reflected dully over the ruined blade. He only made it seven steps before his body failed him and he just collapsed. His body trembled as he dragged his knees in to his chest. Long arms wrapped around his knees and he bowed his head as he sobbed.

He needed to get to the bathroom. He needed to be behind the safety of the bathroom door. He needed an environment that he could control, so he could feel safe again. He needed to lock the door behind him. He needed to salt the entrance and the window above the tub. He needed to lie in the tub. If he could get there, he could lay the proper protection around himself there and just stay in the tub, hidden away.

He had finished what he’d started and just left. Because Sam was little better than the name he had, so thoughtfully, carved into his stomach. Whore.

Sam couldn’t pull himself up to his feet. In the end, he settled for dragging himself to the bathroom and was grateful that he still had the remnants of his shirt on even though it got caught up in the cuts on his stomach. The cotton, so soft when he’d put it on was like wearing wool as it scratched over his torso. He tried to ignore the smeared blood and other things that he left in a broken trail behind him in a gory display of flesh and bodily fluids. Sam wanted to scream but he refused to, so he wouldn’t call any attention from other people in the hotel.

Safely hidden away in the bathroom, Sam slammed the door shut. He’d lock it after he could move again- it was just too high to reach without getting off of the floor. Until then, he had to clean his wounds. He pulled the first aid kit from beneath the sink and flung it blindly behind him. With a pained groan, he clawed his way back to the tub. It was the last hurdle.

He braced himself reluctantly on his lacerated stomach and ignored the slide of tears as he leaned against the cold porcelain. With a grunt of pain, Sam hauled himself to his shaking knees. He fell headfirst into the tub and groaned as he curled into himself and dragged his legs in after him. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much. Sam couldn’t stop the sobbing scream that escaped as the pain flooded through him now that he wasn’t focused on something, anything, else.

His stomach throbbed and his ass pounded in a contrasting beat. It felt like he was falling apart.

He lifted his shaking leg weakly, groaned against the resistance of the fabric that bound his feet together, and used his foot to turn the hot water on. It was shockingly cold as it fell from the spigot, but it was something going in the right direction. Before Sam dropped his foot beneath the flow of water, he pulled the shower curtain shut and then used his heel to flip the switch to shower. He didn’t care that the water was freezing still or that minus the panties he’d been wearing at the start of the night he was still completely clothed. He just needed to be clean.

He pulled what was left of his shirt off and dropped it outside the tub. It would need to be burned. All of it would need to be burned. Salted and burned, just to be safe. The skirt was a different matter altogether. Sam struggled to get his hands behind him to unzip the short zipper of the skirt and shimmy it off. With it down his legs, he groaned as he kicked it over the side of the tub where it landed on top of the ruined shirt with a disgustingly wet sound. The hardest would be the boots. He didn’t know how he would get those off while curled in the tub.

Sam sobbed into his arms as he let the finally hot water shower over him. It was a relief to have it beating down on him. The blood and semen washed away, sluiced from his body and washed down the drain. It hurt, the hot water burning him, but he didn’t mind. He wanted the burning pain. He wanted to hurt just that little bit more. He needed it, to get the feel of being touched out of his mind.

He was a whore. He had proven it, had used him like one. He was nothing.

It seemed a long eternity before he could move. It hurt, his body didn’t want to move, but he refused to lay in the tub naked. He pulled the bar of soap off of the edge of the tub and wrapped it in his fist. He scrubbed his hand over his skin. He needed to be clean. He needed to wipe the stain of the whore off of himself.

When he woke up, not remembering passing out, the water was freezing as it poured over him in little icy needles over his numbing body. Sam’s body shivered and Sam groaned as he straightened himself out. His stomach throbbed but the pain in his ass was diminished enough that he could move without walking funnily. As much as he wanted to pretend that things were normal, he couldn’t.

Six months until he graduated. Six months before he could board a bus and leave it all behind. In six months, Sam would be free. He would cut all ties that he had to the hunting world and he would just be himself. He would be a boring Sam Winchester who had only barely existed, had few extracurricular activities but all of the appropriate grades. He had the hacking skills necessary to fabricate an entire past.

It seemed to take forever but he finally managed to pull himself out of the tub and stand, shaky but still standing on his own. He fought to keep the tears at bay, to build his façade up. He had to pretend that nothing happened. That he wasn’t terrified of Dean. That he wasn’t hurting in places that didn’t need to hurt. He wasn’t going to be helpless. Not now. Not again.

It was enough for Sam that he would be safe in six months.


	2. Dogs of War

 

He met Brady Quinton as a sophomore. He’d been his roommate and had grown to be his best friend. Brady understood that Sam had quirks and he accepted it. Brady claimed he’d grown up with an uncle who suffered PTSD straight from the combat zone. The borderline compulsions he had were similar enough that they labeled Sam as a survivor. Of what, Brady didn’t know, and in the long run, he didn’t seem to care about it; instead he seemed to want to help Sam out. He liked Sam’s obsessive organization and he didn’t mind that Sam checked the doors and the windows repeatedly in a night before he could relax. The protective charms that Sam had put up on the door jams in pencil were interesting, but Brady didn’t ask about them.

Brady was the first man he’d considered being close to since he’d left home. It had been nearly two years after he’d been raped and the fear and the nerves should have eased. It was something he’d thought he would have been able to fight off, but it had been impossible. He was eighteen and the only serious sexual experience he’d had was a brutal rape. Sam wanted to cry. He couldn’t believe that he was such a wimp. He was a coward, and his father would be ashamed of him. And his father would have every right.

A man didn’t allow one bad experience to completely dictate the rest of his life. And that’s what Sammy was doing. He was allowing one thing to ruin him. Sam was letting one night, one event keep him from pursuing the normal life he’d claimed to want to leave his family behind for. He managed to survive two years without touching another person more than necessary.

But Brady wouldn’t let him maintain that distance. He would hold Sam’s hand, a gentle press of palm to palm and watch the other while he struggled to keep the contact. He didn’t want to break from the touch, didn’t want to offend, but he didn’t want to be held. He didn’t want Brady to know just how damaged he was. He should have been over it. After two years, he should have been able to let another man do what he had always known himself to want. 

The first time Brady kissed him, Sam thought he might scream. He had panicked and lost control of himself with his fists swinging uselessly and his body jerking back, but Brady had been there. He’d held Sam, hugged him tight and whispered pointless and meaningless nonsense into his ear. He’d given Sam a place to hide away, when he’d needed it most. 

And after he had finished crying, with Sam’s face still covered in snot and tears, Brady had kissed Sam again. His big hand cupped the side of Sam’s face, scratched over the light stubble and gently pressed against the heated skin to support Sam’s head as he pressed their lips together. It wasn’t invasive, it was actually rather chaste, but it was like being given a second chance at life again. Sam just lingered in the touch of lips on his own, pressed into the cool palm of his best friend and let Brady set the tempo. 

Sam had been prepared to give Brady what he knew the other man wanted. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that his friend wanted to fuck. He could read it in Brady’s dark eyes when they raked over his body. And if Brady had pushed for more, Sam would’ve rolled over and given it to him. But Brady had stopped at just the chaste kiss. 

“Sam,” he chastised softly. “You don’t have to give me anything.” 

Sam nodded dumbly and curled into Brady’s arms. It was amazing to feel vulnerable again. He could breathe, and Brady’s hand on his cheek, the one curled into the small of his back, made him feel protected. Safe. He risked himself and pressed a kiss to Brady’s jaw before he bowed his head again. 

“Sam, I want you and I’m pretty sure that you know that. If we’re going to do this, eventually I want to have sex with you.” 

“I know,” Sam nodded. He trembled in Brady’s arms. He knew that it would eventually come to that. “We can start small and work up to it?” 

“We can. You know eventually you’ll have to tell me what happened.” There was a look that was impossible to interpret. It was dark and terrifying, but there was a hint of a smile in the curl of Brady’s lips that made it comforting. Sam could only believe that it was because of his own terror that it seemed to be terrifying. Perhaps if he’d been more comfortable in himself and in the relationship that he knew Brady wanted and his ability to give it to him, he would’ve been calmed by it. 

Sam shook his head to clear his paranoid suspicions and pushed away from Brady. What had happened had been a terrifying and singular event. It was something that would never happen again, as far as Sam was concerned. He had no intentions of reliving the thing that had made him so cautious around others. He couldn’t. He couldn’t face the truth and he couldn’t face the pain. It had hurt so much. It had felt like he’d been torn apart. If things went the way Brady wanted them to, Sam would be opening himself up to the potential of a lot of pain. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to hurt anymore. Not when it was supposed to be so very good. 

He had listened to other men in the campus LGBT group who had talked about being sexually active. About how amazing it felt to be with their partners. Sam wanted that. But he couldn’t erase the pain of his first time. Of being torn apart. Of bleeding for nearly two weeks after it was over. He didn’t think he could ever face that again. He wanted to cry. He knew that what was being offered to him was healing. It was a chance to reconcile what had happened with the reality of what could be when both partners truly cared about giving pleasure as well as taking it. 

Sam wasn’t in love with Brady. But he had a feeling that one day he very well could be. 

“Let’s just go slowly?” Sam demanded with a small question. He knew that Brady would have to respect his wishes. Sam wasn’t the same slender child he had been when Dean had taken advantage of him. He was thicker. Buffer. Much more muscled and fine-tuned. He might not be hunting anymore, but he hadn’t let the near perfection that training demanded of his body disappear because he’d left his father behind. 

Brady pressed a kiss to the apple of Sam’s cheek and nodded. “We can do that, baby.”

Brady convinced him to strip down to his boxers and undershirt. He hadn't been this undressed with somebody in a long time.

"Brady," Sam panted softly. "I... I haven't..."

"What happened, Sam?" Brady asked when Sam couldn't stop his stuttering.

"I... Raped," Sam whispered. "Scarred." 

He clenched his eyes shut and pulled away from the other man. His body was tense as he lifted the white muscle shirt to reveal ridged lines of scarred flesh carved with accusing letters that Sam would never escape. His stomach was pale, but the letters were a rosy contrast against the skin. They looked bigger every time that Sam saw them, but they only stretched across his stomach beneath his ribs and above his belly button. 

_Whore._

They’d been together as a couple for nearly two months but they had never done anything more than some hot and heavy making out. They’d kissed each other senseless until Brady left the room to cool himself down. Sam appreciated the respect, but he wasn’t sure how to handle it anymore. He wasn’t giving his boyfriend what he needed, what he deserved for his patience and gentleness. Brady would move his fingers along Sam’s hips and waist, cup his ass, but when Sam froze up, Brady always pulled back and with desperate and panted kisses, promised to return after he’d taken care of his personal issues. 

Sam was tired of it. He wanted to give Brady this. It was a small thing. Just being naked together. Touching and getting off with each other instead of alone as though they were ashamed of their sexuality. But Sam had forgotten just what he had hidden away from Brady. He’d forgotten what he’d fought to keep to himself and away from other’s eyes. Sam clenched his eyes shut and buried his head in the pillows. He started to pull the shirt down but was stopped by Brady's fingers as they traced the hem of the muscle shirt.

"Sam," Brady whispered. "Sam, do you trust me?" It was asked in a voice that was sweet and inviting; warm and non-threatening. 

Sam shivered as fingers moved over sensitive skin that nobody but himself had touched in nearly three years. It was skin that had never been touched so lovingly before. Not before, and definitely not since, it had been brutally carved into. 

A feather-soft kiss blessed the curve of his hip. Sam nodded, his eyes clenched shut and his lips pulled into a thin line as he struggled to hold back the nerves and fear.

The brush of lips across his sensitive skin made Sam jump and blink his eyes open. Warm and comforting, Sam wanted to arch up into the touch, to invite more, but he couldn't let himself do it. 

"I... I trust you," he whispered and he forced himself to card a hand through Brady's hair. 

Brady snorted a soft laugh against Sam's stomach. Before he could warn Sam differently, he wrapped hands around Sam's hips and held him firmly. "You're not a whore," Brady murmured. 

Sam trembled as the slick, warm slide of Brady's tongue danced over the too-sensitive skin of his scars. His stomach muscles contracted in shock and fear. And to his surprise, just the barest hints of desire.

Brady pressed a kiss to the quivering muscles in Sam's stomach and slid a hand down into the waistband of his boxers and deeper. 

"Brady!" Sam gasped when the hand of his lover wrapped around the flaccid flesh of his dick. He pushed his hips down into the bed, a symbolic attempt to escape but not a serious one. If he wanted to, he could get free. He could fight his way out of a lot of situations with humans.

"It's alright, Sam," Brady promised. "Close your eyes and trust me."

Sam shivered at the command, but he did as he was told. His eyes fell shut and he carded his fingers through the rough short hairs on Brady's head. 

There was rough squeezing around the too-soft flesh of his dick and then the soft slide of Brady's tongue over the tip.

"I gotcha," Brady promised softly. Lips wrapped around the soft head and Sam shivered and clenched a hand in the soft sheets beneath him and the coarse hair of his lover.

He hardened slowly under the steady ministrations of Brady. The careful and timid touches gave Sam comfort and arousal. They didn’t last long before he switched them to something else and then Brady was almost too forceful, nearly painful touches on flesh that hadn’t been touched in a long time that he might have appreciated if he had a different sexual drive. He hardened though and that was enough. 

Before Brady, he hadn't had a full erection since he was seventeen and had been forcibly taken. Fear poured through him and he shifted under Brady's hold. Sam bit his bottom lip and moved his hips slowly against Brady’s hand. He could feel heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, it traced up the long curve of his spine and set his heart racing.

He let go of Brady’s hair and brought the hand up to cover his eyes. Still biting at his bottom lip, he forced himself to not thrust up into the warm, tight heat of the other man’s mouth. He was embarrassed as his body tensed and he came with a soft, nearly indiscernible sound. 

Brady swallowed around the tip and Sam nearly sobbed in relief. Brady crawled up his body, slowly and full of animalistic grace. When he kissed Sam, it was hungry and desperate and Sam returned it as best as he could until he felt the press of Brady’s dick hard against his thigh. 

“No!”

Brady nodded and pulled his hips back. “Sam,” Brady soothed. “Just your hand, baby. Let me?” 

Sam shivered, but he couldn’t say no. Not after what Brady had done for him. What was a hand job in the wake of a blow job? He nodded, his eyes clenched shut. Brady wrapped a hand around Sam’s, twining their fingers together. It was so sweet and gentle that for a moment Sam forgot to be terrified of what was happening. 

Brady’s erection was unfamiliar and in their joined hands it rested awkwardly against their palms. Brady curled his fingers, dragged Sam’s with them, around the hard as steel flesh. He moaned and thrust up.

Sam watched, fascinated. His hand was curled loosely around the turgid length as Brady moved. It was exciting to have so much power, to have so much trust. Sam could squeeze too much and end everything. He could refuse to tighten his grip and leave Brady to seek his own pleasure. 

Or he could return the generosity of his lover and get Brady off. 

Sam curled his fingers tighter, framed the velvety steel in the curl of his fingers and the touch of his palm. Brady grunted softly before he took the invitation. He thrust harder, pushed himself closer to Sam. When Brady tightened his grip on his dick, Sam moved his fingers obediently and it wasn’t long before Brady spilled hot and thick against his stomach.

“So good, baby,” Brady panted softly as he moved against their joined hands. It was hot and slick and sticky. Sam clenched his eyes shut and lay still while Brady slowed and stilled against him. When Brady finally stopped, he collapsed against Sam’s prone body and breathed deeply. 

“I… I’m gonna take a shower,” Sam whispered softly. 

“Just lay here with me,” Brady growled. “I want to enjoy this. It’s your first step. Don’t you feel better knowing that you can do this?”

Sam didn’t speak; he just forced himself to lie still beneath the hot weight of Brady over him. He wasn’t heavy. It was just uncomfortable because he didn’t know how to deal with this situation. All he could do was _obey._

Sam loved Brady. He loved him very much, but he hated him too. He hated being told that he needed to lie in Brady’s come. Hated being told that he was going to learn to suck dick and if he didn’t, it would come between them. 

He hated himself the most though. Because he knew that relationships didn’t have to work like that. Brady didn’t have to call all of the shots. But there was something about it that made perfect sense too. What if this was the best that Sam could get? What if Brady, who was rough but considerate, was the only one out there who would be able to see past the label carved into his flesh? 

Brady was never outwardly rude either. He just pushed. But Sam needed that. His fears and his doubts and his constant questioning of himself left him little time to push against his fears of other men. He knew that he needed to get past them, that Brady deserved to have him move past them, but he couldn’t just make himself let go. 

He needed to cling to the past. To the runes he’d carved into the floor with his blood and nails, to the salt that had circled him. He needed to get the words of the exorcism running through his mind quick and jumbled and missing all of the important words perfect. He would not let himself be taken like that again. He couldn’t. 

Brady knew that Sam couldn’t live in the present. That his mind was focused on yesterday. He focused on the negatives and he couldn’t find anything good in the life that he’d shared with his family. Not before he’d been driven off like so much waste. Brady was considerate. He used slow and steady movements. He pushed gently from his side, stretching the boundaries of Sam’s limits and getting him used to more, little by little.

When he introduced the idea of Jessica, Sam was too deeply enthralled, too enamored to deny him this pleasure. Especially considering that Jessica would complete Brady where Sam inevitably failed.

“Sam,” Brady purred as he slid a hand down Sam’s back. His hand was rough and calloused as it traced the knobs of Sam’s spine. He shivered beneath the touch. “I want to see somebody else.” 

“Y-you’re breaking up with me?” 

“No. I don’t want to break up. I want somebody else too.” 

“What?” 

“I want a poly relationship. There’s a girl. And I want to have sex with her,” Brady answered. “I want you to have sex with her too. I want to bury myself in your body, but you won’t let me. So I’m going to see her.”

“Can I meet her?” 

“You’re going to fall in love with her,” Brady promised as a wicked grin danced across his handsome face.

“Let me introduce you to Jessica Moore. She’s the girlfriend of sorts,” Brady smiled as he held his hand out to the beautiful blonde. 

Sam knew that Brady had been seeing a woman, he’d even agreed to that. Sam had kind of thought Brady had been seeing somebody that was similar to him, but he was relieved to know that she was a different person. Her hair was long, waist length and wavy in dark blonde and brown rivulets. She was slender, but well proportioned. Her lips were sinfully full and her eyes were dark with mischief. Sam found her quite attractive. She was both beautiful and safe, she was smaller than them both and Sam knew he could overpower her. “Hi.”

“Brady told me he was seeing another man,” Jessica smiled, offering her hand politely. “I’m glad to see he has great taste.” Sam blushed under her compliments. He hadn’t been expecting that. He’d been expecting catty. Anger, maybe. Or perhaps even disgust. “I know Brady’s bi. I know there are things that I just can’t give him. And if he can get them with you, that makes me happy. He deserves to be happy. And it’s a relief to know that it’s not with some asshole.” 

“The goal is to get us all in bed at least once,” Brady grinned. 

Sam blanched. He could barely stand being in bed with Brady alone sometimes. It was hard to imagine being in bed with another person. Especially if they were going to be having sex. It was complicated. He’d accepted that Brady was seeing another woman, but he hadn’t expected that she would be so forward. And he had had no idea that she’d be so damned agreeable or cute. She was likeable. And even though Sam wanted to hate her for being what Brady needed when Sam fell short, he couldn’t. 

“Sounds good to me,” Jessica practically purred as she circled Sam. 

“We’re taking it slow,” Sam ground out. He didn’t want to, not really. He wanted to get it over with, but he knew his body wouldn’t cooperate with him. As soon as he and Brady were naked together, it was like his body just tensed up and shut down. They’d barely managed blowjobs. 

“We can do that, baby,” Jessica smiled. She tiptoed and pressed a chaste kiss on his jaw.

Brady pressed Sam against the wall. His hands slid over the muscled chest and traced the ridges and dips through the thin fabric of his sleeping shirt. Sam could feel the hard line of Brady’s dick through his sleeping pants and boxers as it pressed into his pelvis. 

“Br-Brady?” 

“I need this,” Brady panted against Sam’s neck. He thrust hard against Sam and moaned into his ear. 

Sam shivered and fisted his hands against the wall. He bowed his head and sobbed a breath in.

Sam watched as his boyfriend pinned the blonde against the nearest wall. Her head fell back and she arched her body up into him. Desire and hot lust ran through his body as he watched them move together. She lifted a leg and wrapped it around his waist. Her arms were linked behind Brady’s neck, holding him close as she rode his clothed body. She seemed impossibly bold and Sam envied the easy grace that she used with his lover and her boyfriend. 

“Sam,” Brady practically purred into her neck, pushing the blonde hard against the wall as he pulled back. “Come here. baby,” he called as he kissed down to her pale shoulder, not even looking, just trusting that Sam would obey. 

Because Sam did obey. He’d known that it would eventually come to this. That eventually, being with Brady, who was also with Jessica, would lead to this threesome of sorts. He’d known this when he’d agreed to the depths that they’d gone. And he wouldn’t fight against it. He just hadn’t expected this much after only seven months with Brady, three with Jessica. But, he knew that they both would want to have him. Brady was a different subject altogether. He’d known that his lover wouldn’t ridicule him. But Jessica had yet to see him unclothed. She didn’t know. 

Brady wrapped his arms around Sam and pushed him close to Jessica, forcing their bodies together tightly. Sam could feel the heat of her body as she adjusted herself to wrap around Sam’s larger body. Her body was firm, but soft. It was so very different from anything he was used to feeling, he was afraid of touching. He didn’t want to hurt her. And he really didn’t want to scare her. But he was terrified of himself. 

Brady’s hands were warm as they slid over his hips, across the line of his jeans and dipped in just enough to be a tease. The calloused fingers caressed the scarred flesh gently. Sam couldn’t feel the touch as the gentle thing it was supposed to be, but he could feel the absence of sensation. He knew that Brady was slowly tracing the word carved into his stomach. It seemed to be his goal in life to make Sam see that he was worth more than what he’d been forced to endure. 

Warm lips traced the long column of his neck and he leaned forward, into Jessica’s space as Brady moved behind him. Jessica took the hint and brought her lips up to Sam’s. It was a kiss that was passionate and spoke of so very much more all at the same time. She rocked her body into him and Brady thrust against his clothed ass at the same time and Sam thought he would die of over stimulation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so very distracted. He knew that Brady wanted them all to be together. And he knew that Jessica was interested in that as well. But he was terrified. What if she was disgusted by his brand? What if that was enough of a wedge to drive between them, enough to end what little bit of normalcy they’d given each other? 

Sam shivered as Brady dropped to his knees behind him. The warm support disappeared as Brady’s hands wrapped around his thighs and his face pressed into the lower back of Sam. It was a new sensation. And Sam thought he might die with the over stimulation. Jessica lifted her leg and wrapped it around Sam’s body, the long appendage rested over Brady’s shoulder. It was a delicious mix of the erotic and the new. Brady’s hands worked deftly on Jessica’s jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping before he laced his fingers with Sam’s and showed him how to touch. 

She was warm and wet to the touch. It wasn’t completely different from his own ass when he was well lubed. She was much more responsive though. She bucked against his fingers and drove the tips into her opening. Her head fell forward to rest against his chest and Brady’s hand pulled back, letting Sam take control of the situation. Sam tried to give her what she wanted, but he didn’t know if he was doing it right. His fingers moved in slow circles and lines, exploring her slowly. She was just so wet and responsive. 

Brady’s hands slid to Sam’s jeans and slowly pulled them down too. With Sam’s dick exposed, Brady’s fingers traced a dry path from tip to root and back again, dragging loose skin along the way. Sam wasn’t hard. Sometimes it took a fair bit of time for Sam to get his dick up. But Brady was an expert at getting things going. He knew the perfect touches, the right things to say. But Jessica didn’t. She was still naïve. 

Her body rocked hard against him, the rough denim of her crotch dragged across his exposed flesh. It was supposed to be something enticing, but Sam could only flinch. 

“He’s shy, sweetheart,” Brady called softly.

“I can fix that,” Jessica smirked. Her eyes flashed darkly in the low light of the room and then she was on her knees too. Her hands took over where Brady had been and his lover stood slowly behind him, his fingers dragged a ragged path up Sam’s clothed back, across his broad shoulders, and back down again. Jessica’s hands were much more delicate than Brady’s but wrapped around his flaccid length confidently and stroked gently. 

As close as she was, there was no way that she could miss the word carved into his body. The shame he’d carried around. Sam could only watch as she raised herself to kneeling to push his shirt out of the way. There was an odd look to her face when she read the word before she looked up to Sam. It was sad but something gentle. There was the hint of something gleeful in her face that he hadn’t expected to see. And that was an emotion he didn’t really know how to handle. 

She buried her face against his stomach, her tongue traced along the scarred flesh. Her fingers traced the contours of his body and she kissed his scars. Brady’s hands were on his ass and his back. His lips traced the column of his neck, paused over Sam’s racing heartbeat. 

Sam bucked forward when Jessica took the tip of his semi-hard erection into her mouth and sucked. It wasn’t something he’d done a lot of, and usually, a blowjob was enough for him. Brady didn’t have the same issues with intimacy that Sam did and he wasn’t upset that Jessica was able to give Brady what he himself couldn’t. 

And she was good at what she was doing. A hand slid over his thigh, the other free hand wrapped around the base of his dick and held firmly while she sucked teasingly. Her mouth was amazing, and Sam can’t stop the natural reactions. He was harder than he had been in a while with Brady. He knew that Jessica would be something that would probably become a regular. Neither one of them were likely to break up the good thing that they had going between them just because Sam wasn’t completely comfortable. They were happy with what they had together. Even if that meant Sam had to be the third party. 

The suction on his dick disappeared and Sam didn’t get a chance to say anything before Jessica was standing up beside him. Her long body pressed against him from head to toe and then she wrapped her leg around Sam’s waist. “C’mon, handsome,” Jessica purred against his lips. “Fuck me.”

Sam didn’t move. He knew how this worked but he didn’t have a condom. He didn’t have experience that she could get with Brady instead. But Brady’s hands on his hips guided him. Together, Sam bent his knees and plunged into the tight heat of her body. 

Jessica threw her head back in pleasure, her eyes were screwed shut and she rocked her hips up into Sam with a fluidity he hadn’t expected. She wrapped long arms around Sam’s neck and took over the movement of their bodies together. She wriggled her hips and rocked into Sam. Her mouth was opened as she panted, quiet noises of pleasure escaping as she moved with Sam. 

Brady was pressed so close to him that the hard proof of his own erection rode the crease of Sam’s ass. But Brady kept it firmly hidden in his pants. Sam trembled between their bodies, caught up in the emotions. It was too much and somehow not enough. He leaned into Brady’s bracing hold, using his lover to help him fuck this woman. She kept tempo with him. 

But the strangest part of the whole situation was Brady. He reached around Sam, traced the slender waist and pressed his fingers against Jessica’s clit. Sam watched fascinated as he was pulled deeper into her body and Brady’s fingers moved steadily. He reacted instinctively when she began trembling and wrapped his arms around her, supporting her as they moved together. 

She clamped down tighter on Sam than he’d thought he’d ever feel and moaned demurely as she shivered. The muscles surrounding him tightened and loosened. They massaged him and he could feel the beginnings of orgasm at the base of his spine. He pulled out when she collapsed back against the wall and wasn’t surprised when Brady wrapped his hand around Sam’s wet dick and stroked. 

Sam didn’t take much more than half a dozen strokes before he followed Jessica over the edge. His body tensed and relaxed as he shot his load into Brady’s hand and onto Jessica’s still finely trembling thighs. Shock and fear flooded him as he felt the slick heat of Brady’s release coat the small of his back and dribble down his ass. He couldn’t remember Brady pulling his jeans low, couldn’t remember him exposing himself and pressing nakedly against his back. 

Brady’s kiss against his neck was gentle, soothing when all Sam wanted was to move. He didn’t want to be surrounded by these people. He didn’t want this fear that was suddenly covering him. 

“Let me go,” Sam begged, unmoving. He didn’t want to touch either of his partners. Brady complied and helped brace Jessica against the wall without Sam’s mammoth support. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s covered shoulder and stepped back. Sam could feel their eyes on him as he escaped to the bathroom. He needed a shower. He needed the escape, needed to wash the feeling of disgust off of his body. 

His hands trembled and he struggled to turn the knobs on for the water and the shower. He needed to get away. He needed to get clean again. He needed more than what he could ever get here. But he was stuck and Brady and Jessica were the best that he could get. He needed to learn to live with what they offered. What they provided him.

The water couldn’t get hot enough quick enough and Sam could feel his body trembling as he stripped the sweaty fabric from his body. He practically fell into the shower and stood under the spray and prayed it would wash it all away. 

He was lost in his thoughts when firm arms wrapped around him. Strong and comforting, Sam barely contained the scream that caught in his throat before he collapsed into Brady’s arms. 

“I’ve got you,” Brady whispered as he stroked his back, petted his hair and kissed his temple.

When Brady and Sam had sex alone for the first time, it was something intense and unique. Brady had set up a perfectly romantic situation. Dark scented candles were all around the small dorm room. There were yellow roses set in a vase on the desk where Sam’s borrowed laptop normally set. 

Even completely terrified like he was, Sam found it hard to deny Brady. He wouldn’t let this much effort and work and patience go to waste. Brady had given him a year to deal with things, especially in pursuit of their relationship. He wanted to stay with the little that they’d done. Handjobs and blowjobs and just being together were enough for Sam. But he knew that Brady wanted more. He’d known that Brady wanted to fuck. 

And it seemed that it was time to go through with that final step. Sam wasn’t a coward. He could recognize an order when it was being given. And this was an order being given. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and watched the door, waiting for Brady to come in. 

“Hey, baby,” Brady murmured softly as he opened the door to the room. He was a beautiful man. He wasn’t as well built as Sam was, but he wasn’t lacking either. He was lithe like a swimmer should be- long and well proportioned. He shut the door behind him and strode purposely to Sam and wrapped his calloused hands around Sam’s smooth cheeks. “How you doin’?” 

“I’m… I’m okay,” Sam stuttered. He was ready. Brady had been more than patient with him for so very long. And it was enough for Sam to overlook the fear he was dealing with. It wasn’t like he’d never dealt with fear before. He knew what it was like to be terrified. And he knew what it was to act in fear. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Brady said softly. “I promise.” 

He smiled at Sam and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. His eyes twinkled darkly as he searched Sam’s face. 

Sam nodded. 

Brady pulled Sam into his arms and forced him to bend to press their lips together. The kiss was hungry. Sam felt like he was being devoured through the sheer passion of the kiss. He pressed their bodies close, flush as he searched Brady’s mouth, seeking every unique taste of his lover. He wanted this. It was something normal people did. It was average. And Sam wanted the normalcy. 

Brady pulled Sam back to the bed. He sat back, his legs stretched out in front of him. He pulled Sam onto the bed after him and into his lap where Sam was forced to straddle the lithe man and chased the taller man’s lips. Sam’s hands braced him against the wall and Brady’s shoulder, holding onto him as they rocked together. Brady’s hands were hot on his hips, holding him as he guided him. 

“I gotcha, baby,” Brady purred into his ear. He didn’t give Sam a chance to respond before he thrust up against him. He groaned when hips rocked up against him. Sam’s heart fluttered in his chest in fear and his stomach turned over. This was the closest he’d been to going the distance with another man. He wanted to. He needed this. 

Brady’s hands slid over his back, across the smooth skin of his lower back and up his spine. He groaned as he rode Brady’s movements. It was intoxicating. 

“I’m going to take my pants off. I want you to do the same,” Brady murmured softly. 

Sam nodded and leaned back away from Brady. He watched the other man as he stood and undid his pants slowly, teasingly. He licked his lips as he pulled the elastic of his boxers over the growing erection in his pants and waited. It was the most physically vulnerable state of being, and Sam loved Brady for giving him that. He needed to know that he could be safe. That he could be protected and loved and cherished. 

He followed Brady’s example and lifted his hips to pull his own jeans and boxers down. He lay prone and Brady pulled the fabric the rest of the way off of Sam’s legs. He smiled a crooked and sweet smile that made the butterflies in Sam’s stomach flutter. He was terrified, but excited too. 

Brady climbed up onto the bed and straddled Sam. He pressed their lips together and rocked his hips into Sam. His breath hitched and Sam’s hands came up to push against Brady’s chest. He bowed his back and tried to pull away from him. He clenched his eyes shut and laid still as Brady moved over him. 

He wasn’t hard, far from it, but it didn’t stop Brady. He whispered against Sam’s ear, “I gotcha, baby. It’ll be good.” 

Sam could only lay there. Brady’s hands slid all over Sam’s body, traced the rise and fall of muscles. His chest heaved as he panted, tried to control his panic and his hopeful arousal. He wanted Brady, he trusted his lover. But he was terrified. 

The sickly sweet smell of flowers drifted through the room as Brady kissed him deep and hungrily before a finger breached his body. His back arched up and he bit into Brady’s lip. “Fuck!” Brady growled before he slid another finger into Sam’s body. Sam writhed beneath the smaller man and dug into Brady’s arm and the blankets beneath them. 

“Sl-slow down!” Sam stuttered; his eyes clenched shut as he widened his legs, letting Brady closer to him. “Please.”

“You’re okay, baby,” Brady whispered into Sam’s neck. “You’re fine.” Sam whined deep in the back of his throat when a third finger pushed into him. “You look so good.”

Sam’s blinked slowly up at Brady and he shifted his hips to try to give the man room to move his fingers. He dug his nails into Brady’s arms, felt the warmth of beaded blood under his nails. He bit his bottom lip and the taste of hot metallic blood dripped into the back of his tongue. 

“I’m gonna ride you now,” Brady whispered against Sam’s cheek. He pulled his fingers free from Sam’s ass and sat back on his heels. He gave Sam a grin and opened the condom he’d laid on the bed with his teeth and dry hand. He rolled it on and Sam clenched his eyes shut and refused to move. Brady’s hands traced his thighs and spread them wider before he pressed the tip of his dick against Sam’s ass. 

Sam wanted to cry, he still wasn’t hard. But that didn’t seem to stop Brady. He forced himself to relax as Brady pushed in slowly and filled him up. Friction made the muscles within his ass pull as Brady sank deeper into him. Against the pain, he bowed his back and gripped tight to the bed. Brady only stopped when he was buried balls deep, pelvis to pelvis. Sam shivered and gasped softly when Brady started to move slowly. It was careful, steady movement that made Sam sob and pull on the sheets. A small eternity seemed to pass before Brady picked up his pace, before he lost control of his careful and controlled movements. Erratic thrusts had Sam gasping as Brady rode him. 

It seemed to be an eternity before Brady came. He buried himself deep in Sam’s body and just held himself there. Sam breathed slowly as he tried to get himself under control. He didn’t want to move, but he knew that he would need to soon. He needed a shower, needed to wash the lube out of his ass. He gasped as Brady’s arms gave out and he landed in a heavy heap against him and panted into his shoulder and neck. His hands, smoother than Dean’s hands had ever been, traced his arms and stomach and neck. 

“I’m going to take a shower, baby,” Brady whispered into Sam’s neck. “And then I’m going to go see Jessica.” 

“Okay,” Sam answered. He nodded slowly. 

“You okay, baby?” 

Sam nodded again. He kissed Brady’s temple and closed his eyes. It was uncomfortable when he pulled out but Sam was grateful when he finally did. He bit his bottom lip as Brady pulled on a pair of low hanging pajama pants and grabbed his shower caddy and left. 

Brady hadn’t hurt him. He’d been gentle. He’d prepped and lubed and wore a condom. Sam wasn’t bleeding anywhere. He was fine. He should be grateful that somebody like Brady had taken interest in him. That somebody as gentle and loving and understanding as Brady had accepted him for all of his scars and issues. Sam wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. He knew that, accepted it. He was lucky to have found a man who was willing to put up with it all.

He would learn to deal with the sex. It hadn’t hurt enough to turn him off of it completely. He could still enjoy himself with Brady, with Jessica. He didn’t need to get off to have a good time.

Sam wasn’t bothered by the fact that Brady and Jessica had sex more than Sam and Brady did. Sam didn’t want it as much as Brady and Jessica was just as good a partner as Sam could be. He didn’t have to worry about Brady cheating on him, because he was part of the three. It wasn’t cheating when everyone knew about and accepted each other as partners. 

But that didn’t keep him from sex with both of them. He wanted to please them, wanted to be good for Jessica. But especially for Brady, because he loved him. He wanted to be what Brady wanted, what he knew Brady deserved in a normal lover. 

So even though he wasn’t always into it completely, even though he didn’t always want it, Sam gave them both what they wanted.

The last time he was with Brady, it was a moment that Sam would never forget in his life. He had been with Brady and Jessica for two years. He was a senior at Stanford, he was set to interview for a full ride for law school and then it would be smooth sailing for the future. He had been content. Happy. 

But the last night at Stanford proved to be the worst night of his life. He’d just finished showering and his towel was wrapped firmly around his waist. Brady just walked through the door and slammed it shut behind him. His dark eyes narrowed on Sam’s half-naked form and he stalked through the small apartment quickly. He gave no warning before he had Sam pinned against the wall. 

“Brady?” Sam asked, confused as he looked up into his lover’s unusually dark eyes. “No.” 

“Look at you, pretty little girl,” Brady whispered into Sam’s neck. He licked his lips and the tip of his tongue traced the length of Sam’s neck. Sam shivered. His body tensed and went rigid as his stomach somersaulted. “Look at you, all dressed up like a pretty little whore.” 

“No!” Sam practically whimpered. “No, no please.” 

“All pretty and ready. You’re all opened up for a nice big dick, just like a pretty little whore should be,” Brady purred. “Let me give you what you need.”

Sam could barely move for the fear coursing through him. For years, he’d been living with Brady, and he thought he’d known Brady so well. Brady had given him time and space and options. He was sure that Brady had loved him, and his mind just couldn’t seem to make this real in his mind. He shivered against the wall he’d been forced against and clenched his eyes shut. He was falling too quickly into the desperation from years ago when with Dean. 

Brady forced him chest first into the wall. It wasn’t hard. Emotions ran hot and heavy through him. Shame, fear, disgust and paralysis coursed through him. He couldn’t fight him. He couldn’t stop what was going to happen. He knew that. 

“Last time I had you like this, you were wearing that pretty blue skirt,” Brady whispered into his ear. 

Sam gasped as the towel was pulled from his waist and couldn’t catch his breath. He felt numbed, uncertain of what was going to happen to him before he was spread and fucked into. Brady didn’t push deep, he only penetrated halfway, but it was enough that Sam felt like he was being ripped apart from the ass up. He hadn’t felt this fear, this terror since Dean.

Oh God, it had never been Dean! Dean had been possessed and Sam had only failed in protecting himself. His exorcism. He must have pronounced it wrong, must have done it wrong, so he was to blame for his rape. 

Brady was possessed. 

Sam sobbed a choked breath in and fisted his hand against the wall. He couldn’t move. He could barely think straight. He rammed his forehead against the wall in front of him, tried to give himself an out. He couldn’t survive this again. 

“My pretty little whore. All marked and set aside for me,” the demon grunted into Sam’s neck, the tips of his calloused finger traced the scarred skin along his stomach. Sam could almost feel the knife as it carved into his skin again. Could feel the warm blood as it oozed down his groin, down his thighs. He could feel it all over again. 

“C’mon, whore,” the demon possessing Brady growled. He dug his blunt finger nails into the scars and used it for leverage to pump quick and hard into Sam’s body. “You’re my pretty little whore. You got all dressed up for me all those years ago, and now, you just had to beg for it.” 

Sam sobbed, bent forward and stuck against the wall. All he could do was wait for the pain to stop, wait for Brady to finish and let him go. 

“So perfect and tight,” it teased. He slid his tongue along the curve of Sam’s ear, tracing the cartilage as he thrust into Sam. His hands shifted to Sam’s hips and used the hold, the leverage to quicken his thrusts, to deepen and harden the movement. He growled deep in the back of his throat as he buried himself to the hilt in Sam’s body and shivered as he came. When he pulled out, he did it roughly and Sam could feel the thick trickle of semen and blood down his thighs.

Sam sobbed and fell practically boneless, onto the thin carpet of their apartment. He curled into himself, his arms wrapped around his stomach as he fought to keep from throwing up. He didn’t get much of a reprieve though. The demon kicked him onto his back and he refused to fight anymore. He couldn’t. 

“Me and Jessica, we’ve been waiting for two years to do this, whore,” the demon, wearing Brady’s body, whispered as he knelt beside the prone man. “Pretty, pretty whore.” 

Sam didn’t feel the knife slide into the skin. He didn’t feel the iron and silver blade drive deep through tender flesh and supple muscles. He didn’t feel the heated beading of blood on his gut. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, waiting for the demon to finish. 

He almost wished that it would result in death. _God_ he hoped it killed him. 

“Remember?” the demon purred against his stomach. His tongue traced the edges of the wound before a hand wrapped painfully around Sam’s flaccid length. “Gonna do it right.”

“Sam!” 

Sam started, confusion and fear and pain raced through him and he trembled. His body shook as he struggled to keep himself from throwing up. He had to get to the bathroom. Had to get someplace safe. He needed salt and symbols and protection. 

The echoing thunder of a .45 sounded loud. He was deafened in the terrifying silence that followed. But Brady was lying beside him, a smoking bullet hole in his forehead. The knife he’d been carving with was standing proudly from his stomach. It shifted and fell until it was lying on Sam’s stomach. Sam whimpered as he breathed, too terrified to move. 

“Sam,” Dean’s voice seemed to call to him from outside. He didn’t feel like stopping anything else from happening. When Dean’s hand touched him, Sam didn’t move. He shivered when Dean pulled the knife _(his knife that he’d thrown away after the demon had raped him, after the demon had stolen his virginity!)_ from his stomach. He was terrified, but he couldn’t stop the feeling of relief from the fact that Dean was there. “Come on,” he said softly. “I’m going to pick you up.”

Sam didn’t acknowledge his brother. He just laid there, a limp body. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean had ever carried him. Instinctively, Sam struggled weakly when Dean’s arms came up around him. He didn’t want to be out of Dean’s arms. They were comforting. Dean seemed to know exactly what Sam needed. 

Strung out, Sam finally just gave in and relaxed into Dean. He was gentle as he laid Sam in the bottom of the tub. And that was the last Sam remembered.


	3. Paranoid Eyes

When Sam woke up again, Dean was folded over the bed, arms crossed beneath his head. He was seated in the ridiculously uncomfortable chair. He looked rough with messy hair and dark circles. He was wearing only a t-shirt and it looked threadbare and wrinkled in the fluorescent light. Sam shifted on the bed and Dean lifted his head, resting his chin on his arms. 

“Sam?” Dean asked blearily. His green eyes were confused as he blinked them quickly, clearing them. 

“Hi,” Sam grunted. He curled onto his side and had to fight to keep the grimace off of his face. 

“Lay still,” Dean ordered. “Let me check your stomach.” 

Sam fell back onto the bed and clenched his eyes shut. He rested his tightly clenched fists at his side and was rigid as he waited for Dean to move the shirt he was wearing. It was torture, being forced to lay still, to not move or act protectively in anyway. Dean’s fingers were nimble and thorough as they lifted the gauze on his stomach and moved over the reopened words. He wanted to scream. It was too intimate. 

“Sam, I have to check you,” he murmured softly. “I need to check the back.” 

It was the final straw. Sam’s face crumpled and he lifted his hands to cover it, so he didn’t have to see and Dean couldn’t see him. 

“God, Sammy,” Dean mumbled softly. He did the only thing he could think of and climbed into bed beside his brother and held him as tightly as he could. “It’s okay, Sam,” Dean murmured, repeating it over and over as he stroked his hair softly. 

Sam could only sob as he clung to his brother. A brother he could consider sanctuary again. 

It seemed sleeping was cathartic. As his sobs dropped off, exhaustion won out and Sam was pulled deep into sleep once more.

Sam woke again to the purring roar of the Impala and the steady rocking of her backseat. He cuddled into the blanket Dean had covered him with and curled onto his side. He didn’t bother to hide the wince that escaped as he pulled muscles in his back and worried the tender, scarring skin in the front. Dean was focused on the road ahead of them, not on his pathetic brother in the backseat.

Sam could kill himself. He’d allowed himself to be raped not once, but innumerable times. He’d given into Brady and Brady had just been biding his time. Sam wanted to vomit. He couldn’t believe that he had fallen in love with somebody- _something_ like that. He was a fool.

He couldn’t stop the tears that gathered and fell. He didn’t want to. But he knew how to cry silently. 

Sam wasn’t stupid. He’d been raised in the hunting game. He knew the omens and the signs. His problem was people. He’d never learned to read people. He didn’t know what to do around civilians. It was easy on the job to pretend that the heightened paranoia was a sign of something else, but he couldn’t maintain the façade of a PTSD soldier if he lived twenty-four-seven with other people. 

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice called hesitantly over the soft hum of Metallica. It was his favorite album, the only one he insisted Dean played in the car- the S&M album. Sam liked the feel of togetherness the band presented with the album. How sounds that should’ve been discordant were united in a flow of harmony unlike anything else Sam had ever heard of before, and was practically unmatched.

“It’s Sam,” he answered in a voice that was raspy and broken.

“I’ll pull over at the next exit. We’ll get you out and stretched,” Dean offered. He glanced behind him and they made eye contact over the top of the khaki leather bench seat. “I’ll check you out when we stop.” 

“No,” Sam whimpered. “Please, please just leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that Sam,” Dean growled. “I have to… I know it sucks, but I have to. You…” he trailed off thoughtfully. His voice was deep and thick. 

Sam covered his face and clenched his eyes shut. He wished that God would just strike him dead. Sam could fall asleep again and just never wake up. It would be okay. Dean had been okay for so long without him. He’d been strong and powerful and successful without the added burden of his stupid little brother. 

Sam hadn’t been able to protect himself. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from falling into the hands of a demon, into the hands of a rapist. He hadn’t been able to avoid the machinations of another. And he was suffering for it. His head hurt, his ass hurt, his gut hurt. Everything fucking hurt. He wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Death. 

He didn’t feel it when the car slowed down, had probably drifted off again. But damn, he had gotten back up again. The driver’s door groaned as Dean opened it and pushed his body heavily up to standing. Sam watched Dean move around the car. His brother’s face was haunted and his head bowed as he carried the weight of guilt on his already too-burdened shoulders. 

There were trees everywhere; the sky was obscured by the leafy foliage. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as the passenger side door was opened in the back. Dean leaned his head into the car and placed a hot, reassuring hand on Sam’s ankle. “Sammy?” 

He trembled. Fear poured through him hot and disturbing and he fisted his hands in his shirt. He clenched his knees together and lay there while Dean stood, waiting for a sign that he could move. Sam shivered and curled into himself before he nodded. His stomach protested the movement and he cried silently, tears poured slowly down his face as he acquiesced. He rolled onto his back and Dean climbed into the back seat of the car. 

If this were somebody else, if this were somewhere else, it would be way too intimate. Way too close to something people do in relationships. Dean kneeled over his thighs and pushed Sam’s shirt up slowly, just enough to show the gauze covering the scar on his stomach. The word on his stomach was scabbed. There was a little bit of dried blood and he whimpered as Dean’s calloused fingers traced the too sensitive skin. He heard the rattle of the first aid kit and his stomach muscles contracted as cool cream covered his laceration. 

Perhaps one day eventually, he could get it covered, hidden behind the permanence of skin grafts. Sam didn’t think he would ever do that though, he didn’t see himself pursuing any kind of relationship ever again. Physical just would never be on the table. Not if he could help it. Being branded a whore didn’t mean anything if nobody else ever saw it. 

His eyes were clenched shut tightly, his hands fisted above his heart as he struggled to breath, struggled to keep the desperate façade of normalcy. Dean’s hands were gentle as they smoothed clean gauze over the thin layer of antibiotic cream. It was stupid, but Sam felt better with the word covered and hidden from view. He hadn’t realized how tensed and terrified he was until it was covered. 

“Sammy,” Dean murmured softly. His voice was thick and full of emotions he couldn’t name. “Roll over, Sammy, I need to… I have to see the… he tore you pretty badly. Sammy, I need to make sure you aren’t bleeding anymore.”

Sam sobbed and rolled slowly onto his side, facing the back of the car. He crossed his arms over his head and sobbed softly as he let Dean get a hold of his sweatpants. When Dean had a grip on them, Sam rolled over onto his stomach and lay still as Dean finally exposed Sam’s body to the cool air. He buried his head in his arms and sobbed as Dean did the disgusting and terrifying task of checking his ass out.

Dean spat a curse and spread the cheeks. His dry thumb passed across the too-abused hole, caught on the swollen furl of muscle. He could feel the dried crusting of blood being flaked off before Dean pulled his hand away. 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered. A calloused hand slid across his lower back, soothing and comforting. “I’m going to put antibiotic cream on my middle finger and I’m going to put it on you. I need you to relax for me.”

“No, Dean,” Sam whispered as he clenched his body tightly. His breath hitched in paranoid desperation and he couldn’t stop himself from begging. “No, please don’t Dean. Please, no, Dean. No.” 

“Sammy,” Dean practically whimpered softly. “I have to, Sammy.” He slid his hand slowly across Sam’s lower back in what he could only hope was a comforting gesture. “Do you want some sleeping pills? I can put you down and wait until you’re asleep.” 

“No!” Sam shouted. He pushed himself up painfully to his hands and knees. He shook his head as he twisted to look at his brother. “I’m okay. I’m… It doesn’t hurt. I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Dean placated. He pulled Sam to him and wrapped his arms tight around Sam’s body. “Relax, Sammy. Breathe. We ain’t doin’ it yet. Just, breathe with me.” 

It seemed a small eternity before he could get his trembling breath under control. His head was pillowed against Dean’s shoulder and he clenched his eyes shut. Dean’s hand was on his chest, the other low against his stomach, over the clean gauze. He was on his knees, vulnerable before Dean. In another situation, this could be something sexual. Sam could feel himself calming down though and the hysterical tears calmed into something else, just crying. 

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough that Sam’s legs were trembling and his feet numb. The cassette tape had quit and without Dean up front to switch it over, it was just static white noise. He’d managed to calm down enough that Dean was supporting him, holding him tight and relaxed against Dean’s chest.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispered against Sam’s ear. He repeated it softly, steadily. His voice was soft and it said that he needed for Sam to believe that. He needed Sam to forgive him for something he had no control over.

Sam spread the notes out on the foot of the bed. They were on a break while Sam was on his liquid diet. Two days, he could feel himself getting weaker. He was tired and his body hurt. He was too hot and he was thirsty. But he wasn’t hungry, fortunately. 

In all reality, it was probably because of the fact that he had a fever. Fever meant infection. Infection meant deeper cleaning and better medicines and lots of rest. Which he didn’t want. Sleep was the enemy. 

Being sick was not going to stop him though. It never stopped him when he was in school. He refused to be stopped by this. The exorcism was simple. It was effective and just what Sam needed. There was a shortened version in dad’s notebook and a longer, more powerful exorcism in the text he’d been recommended by Bobby. He didn’t know the book’s origins, but he trusted Bobby. 

He just wanted to learn the exorcism so he wouldn’t have to deal with the demons again. His hands were careful as they traced the letters scrawled across the paper. It was important that he learned the perfect Latin. He would not let that happen to him again. He would never be taken advantage of again. Not by a man, and never by a demon. 

He already knew the English translations so he just needed to get the Latin down. He took the clean paper and started scribbling the Latin. He repeated the words as he wrote.

_”Vade Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Huniliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt.”_

He had confidence in himself for the first bit, three lines of exorcism rites and he knew that he could call them to mind from nowhere. It was just a matter of getting it all put together. Mumbling to himself, he started murmuring the ritual that would save him from demonic assault. 

_“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”_

Sam curled into a small ball in the middle of the hotel’s bed. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. And he knew he wouldn’t have long to be alone. Dean knew what had happened to him with Brady. He didn’t know what had happened with the damned shapeshifter. How had Dean known what had happened in California, that he’d known Sam had needed him? 

_”Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” the faux Dean chastised softly. He stood above Sam and grinned down at him intimidatingly. The shapeshifter pet Sam’s head softly, stroking his hand through Sam’s hair. Sam clenched his eyes shut tightly and refused to think about what was going to happen. It couldn’t. Not again. Not three times. He couldn’t be raped three times. He sobbed a soft and desperate breath in and shivered beneath the monster’s hand._

Sam thought he might be sick. He struggled to keep himself together. He couldn’t let Dean see him falling apart like this. It had just been touches. It had been innuendo and allusions. The shapeshifter hadn’t done anything, so Sam hadn’t been hurt. It had been teasing. 

Sam sobbed as he curled into himself as tightly as he could. The shapeshifter had merely wanted to frighten him, to keep him sedated and under control. There had been no malice. And now the bastard was dead. It only served him right. 

_”I bet you look fucking amazing with those lips wrapped around big brother’s cock,” the shapeshifter taunted softly in Dean’s voice. It was thick with lust and it made Sam want to cry. He strutted before Sam’s seated form with all of Dean’s cockiness. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to be treated like a fuck toy. He didn’t want to be taunted with sexuality. He was afraid of his own and it wasn’t fair to have it thrown in his face like that. He shuddered at the way the shapeshifter moved closer, towering over him in Dean’s form, pressing his heated denim covered groin against Sam’s face. He shivered as he waited._

_He was going to be fucked. Tied to the pole and helpless to fight as he was he wouldn’t be able to save himself from being raped, if that’s what the monster wanted. But if the bastard thought he was going to sit there and wait for him to finish his business with his mouth, the monster had another thing coming. Sam would bite it off before he was forced to be used again._

“Sammy!” Dean growled as he pushed his way into the hotel room. 

The cloying smell of greasy fast food filled the room and Sam couldn’t stop the sudden retching as he threw himself into the bathroom. He had been okay until Dean had come back with the fast food. He shuddered as he bowed his head and paid homage to the porcelain goddess. His stomach cramped as he braced his hands on either side of the toilet and threw up. His thighs trembled with the effort as he held himself still, trying to minimize the mess he would have to clean up when he was done. 

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was soft and full of concern. He dropped onto the edge of the shallow tub and slid a warm hand on the back of Sam’s cold neck. 

Sam shivered beneath the touch and closed his eyes as his stomach rebelled again. He knew there was no going back from this. He had come so far, he was closer every day to putting everything behind him, but he didn’t know how to deal with the sudden flashes of memories. The flares that popped up when he least expected and had no way to protect himself. 

He was getting better with the public, with working alongside Dean, but he couldn’t figure out how to be the touchy-feely that Dean exuded. The invite into the personal bubble that made people just want to give them anything they could to help. 

He was still broken, more broken then he could have ever believed himself to be. But any hopes or ideas of healing were strictly out. He couldn’t. He couldn’t force himself to move past what had happened. 

After what seemed to a small eternity, he felt Dean moving around behind him. He closed his eyes and rested his hot forehead against the cold porcelain and just breathed. The thunder of moving water and the cool burst of air as Dean flushed the toilet encouraged Sam to sit up enough to let his brother take care of him. A warm rag slid over his face, wiping any extra traces of vomit from his lips and chin and the sweat from his forehead and cheeks and neck. Dean pulled Sam up and back, let him rest in the warm embrace of his brother. 

“I gotcha, Sammy,” Dean whispered into his hair. Dean’s hand was a firm touch on his chest and his stomach. He was as comforting as Sam needed him to be. “It’s okay.”

 

“We saved ‘em, Sammy,” Dean said softly as he handled the bottle of Jack to Sam. He offered a smile to Sam, watched as he chugged the liquor. 

“We saved ‘em,” Sam nodded.

He threw the bottle back and shuddered as the liquid rushed down his throat and warmed his stomach. He tossed another gulp back. The Jack was lukewarm and it burned going down. But it was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to get drunk and forget about everything that he had to deal with. 

He had a lot of things to forget. Stanford. Jessica. Brady. He didn’t think he could deal with the reality that his past had given him. He wanted to be an amnesiac. He wanted to forget everything. Jack was a good start. If that didn’t work, Jose would help. And if that didn’t work, Jim was in the wings. 

Sam leaned against the back windshield. Beneath them, the car ticked into silence as it cooled down, Jack was a liquid burn in his stomach and Dean was a burning reassurance at his side. He let his eyes fall closed and shifted closer to his brother. 

It had been a long time since he’d felt comfortable like this. It had been a long time since he’d been able to just relax. 

Even with Brady, who for so long had been the man he’d loved, Sam hadn’t let himself relax. Growing up, Dean had been his solid constant. Nobody else had ever given him the attention and love that Dean had. When that had been forcibly taken, Sam had been lost. He’d thought himself betrayed by his brother, by the man who’d been his world. 

It was hard having that option back.

He closed his eyes and threw the bottle back, the Jack a perfect burn.

“Share the bottle, bitch,” Dean growled from his side. “Some of us want to drink too.” 

Sam laughed and handed his brother the bottle. He watched with his hazel eyes narrowed on Dean’s form while he swallowed. He wanted to hate himself for the low rush of lust that poured through his gut. He’d always wanted Dean. Watching Dean’s Adam’s apple move in his neck, it was amazing how much that little bit made him _want._

“So, we gonna have this heart to heart here?” Dean asked as he tipped the bottle back. 

“What?” Sam grumbled as he held his hand out for the bottle in anticipation. 

“Mom? Lawrence? Stanford? Brady?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sam grunted. “You can if you want to.”

“Just drink, bitch,” Dean sighed. He leaned against the windshield and closed his eyes. 

Sam clenched his eyes shut. He could feel it. He could feel his brother pressed against his back. His hands fisted at his side and he bit his bottom lip. He could feel himself being torn apart, falling to pieces. 

"Sam?" Dean asked in a voice that was grating and intrusive. "What's the matter with you?"

"Why?" Sam asked. Why hadn't he been allowed to have the normal life? Why hadn't he been allowed to have friends? To be safe?

"Why what, Sam?" answered Dean. "Gonna need something more." 

"Why me?" he asked instead. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and poured steadily without his consent. He wept slowly, silently as he faced his prone brother.

 

Sam had never wanted to start hunting again. He hated everything that hunting represented. He hated that he had to be around Dean all the time and hated even more that he just wanted to be around Dean. He wanted the familiarity of Dean. He needed to let go of what had happened to him all those years ago, but he couldn’t. It was petty and he had the proof that he needed that Dean hadn’t been the one to hurt him, but that didn’t stop his childish reactions. 

He wanted to be curled into Dean’s arms. Wanted to let go of all the pain, all of his suffering and shame and just hide away in Dean’s arms, but he couldn’t bring himself to give Dean that vulnerability just yet.

It was unfair to Dean. His brother hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been himself, and he’d tried to protect Sam to the best of his abilities, and when it counted the second time, Dean was there. He’d stopped it from happening again against his will. 

Dean hadn’t understood what had happened to Sam his last year of high school. He didn’t know what had happened to cause Sam to pull away. He didn’t know that a demon had taken his form and used it to rape his little brother, who he’d sworn to protect. And Sam needed to get over it, especially since he knew the truth now.

The problem was that Sam had nightmares. He didn’t think that was anything unusual, all things considered, but something about them bothered Dean. His brother didn’t seem capable of letting it go. Sam accepted the nightmares. He accepted the reality they perverted. It had changed him, yes, but he wasn’t going to let go of all of his sanity, and he couldn’t let it stop him. 

He had a purpose. A reason for wanting the evil sons of bitches dead. His life had been nearly ruined because of demons. Demons and their disgusting games. He’d been a pawn, and according to the demon that had been Brady, they still had plans for him. 

He refused to be a toy. He refused to let others get hurt by the demons. He would save as many as he could. 

Dean though, he wandered around Sam on eggshells. Any concern was hidden beneath a façade of manliness that completely ruined the chances of any true heart-to-hearts, something that would work miracles on the tension. Sam wasn’t broken. He wasn’t a wounded animal. And he certainly didn’t need to be treated like a child. 

It was Sam’s frustration with Dean that led to the fight. It had been brewing for a long time- since Dean had saved him four months ago. But when Dean asked Sam if he wanted to drive, he couldn’t explain what it was that had pissed him off exactly, but he knew it wouldn’t just pass. 

“I’m not a fucking child,” Sam snarled. He slammed the trunk shut and turned on his heel to stomp away. 

“Then stop fucking acting like one,” Dean growled. He threw his jacket into the backseat and dug out a bottle of water. He took a deep drink and threw the bottle into the floorboards. He watched Sam as he stormed away, tantrum brewing. 

“I’m not gonna break!” He snarled. 

“Then stop acting like you will! Nobody touches you. Nobody gets close to you,” Dean said. “Hell, _I_ can’t even touch you!” 

“What’s your point?” Sam snarled. He spit on the ground and growled in Dean’s favor. “I’ve never wanted people to touch me!” 

“You used to not care so much. I didn’t hurt you, Sam!” 

“You’re a stupid bastard!” Sam shouted. “I can’t stand you!” 

“What the fuck happened to make you such a hateful bitch?” Dean demanded. He stormed around the side of the Impala and stalked to Sam. He didn’t hide the anger, didn’t hide the frustration as he moved. “I know that shit fucked you up, but you gotta learn to let it go.” 

“You don’t know shit about what happened!” Sam practically sobbed. He backed up and ignored the press of his brother. Ignored the way Dean approached him, ignored the ugly sneer on his face and the accusations that he couldn’t deny. He knew that Dean wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“So fucking tell me!”

“You raped me, Dean! You did it! You fucking raped me when I was seventeen!”

“No.” Dean stepped back and froze. His eyes were wide in shock, confused and hurt. “No, I wouldn’t!” 

Sam shivered and collapsed in on himself. He fell onto his butt and dragged his knees up to his chest. He had never wanted to tell Dean. Never wanted to tell his brother the truth about what he’d done under the influence. God, he could feel himself falling apart again. Could feel himself being torn into, being ripped apart. He could hear Dean whispering into his ear. He could hear Brady murmuring into his neck. 

“It wasn’t you,” Sam sobbed. “It was… It was a de-demon. I know it wasn’t you.”

“As long as you know it’s not me. Alright,” Dean sighed. He wiped a hand over the back of Sam’s neck. The shudder at the touch was almost instinctual in the crying man. He’d taught himself at seventeen that Dean’s touch meant pain. It would eventually go away, but until then Sam was going to jump at every touch. “We’re taking a break. We need to find Dad but we can’t work like this. You can barely stand to be near me.” Dean growled.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whimpered into his knees. 

“Call Bobby. Tell him we need to disappear for a bit. See if he’s got any rooms,” Dean ordered. His voice was thick with something that Sam couldn’t identify; emotional and altered by a lazy drawl that Dean seemed to develop around Bobby or the back roads that suggested the salvage yard. 

“Why not you?” Sam asked petulantly. He scrubbed his hands over his wet face and threw on his patented Bitch Face Twelve. 

“Because you sound worn out,” Dean said softly. “And because this is for you. You gotta get used to me again. We’ll home base and train out in the junk yard.” 

“I don’t need your pity,” Sam growled. 

“It ain’t pity. I’m trying to pull you back into the fucking game. You can’t be effective if you’re watchin’ me like I’ma fucking jump you. It’s bad for both our nerves.” 

Sam choked on a laugh. He grumbled under his breath about Dean being a coward but moved to do as asked. He pushed himself to his feet and dusted his ass off before he wondered away. 

Dean was a jerk. Too proud for his own good. He needed to learn that it was okay to ask for a little bit of help he may have needed. It didn’t make him any less. Dad had seen to that though. Dean refused to ask for help, unless it was dire and somebody else would be affected by his pride. 

Sam scrubbed his face dry and spat. This wasn’t the time for thinking about that. 

Sam hadn’t talked to Bobby himself in nearly eight years. The number to his main line though was predictably unchanged. Bobby was, aside from Dean, the person Sam trusted with his secrets and his feelings. Dad had generally discouraged them, and Dean was too emotionally stunted to even fight against the norm. 

“Yeah?” the gruff voice answered on the fourth ring. 

Sam tried and failed to find words at the rough voice. All of his life, Bobby had been an example. He had a home and a normal life on the side of hunting. Sam wanted that. Normal. He’d always been safe too. Dad had always left them to relax at Bobby’s. It was a vacation. And Bobby’s junkyard was a blessed island in the storm.

“Who is this? I ain’t got time t’be messin’ with children.” 

“Bobby?” Sam asked softly. “It’s uh… It’s Sam. Sam Winchester.” 

“Boy, you sound rough.” 

“I uh… I need a break, Bobby. I’m not used to the demands of constantly traveling. And being stuck in the car all the time with Dean is driving me insane. I need a stop. Can... Can me and Dean come and crash, maybe help out a bit?” 

“I guess. Yer always welcome around here. Y’know that,” Bobby answered softly. “Get that fool brother of yours and come. I got texts for you to look at.” 

“Thanks,” Sam sighed in relief. 

He didn’t want to stop, not really. But Dean had a good point. If he couldn’t trust his brother, how was he going to hunt well? Dean was his best option for back up, the only man that he could trust. But, how could he work with somebody he was constantly looking over his shoulder at? 

“Bobby said it’s alright,” Sam muttered. He didn’t look up at Dean. He wiped the palm of his hand down his face and looked way. “He’s got some texts to go through anyway.” 

“Get your ass in the car, bitch.”

 

Their slow drive toward South Dakota took them through Nebraska and right into a hunt. The bitch hadn’t wanted to go down, not without a fight. The bloody tears hurt and Sam knew that he deserved it. They were proof of a guilty conscience. Dean pushed Sam down on the edge of the tub and his calloused hands traced the edges of the blood trail down his face. The calloused thumb of his brother was gentle as he wiped at the drying blood on his face. It itched. And he wanted to scratch at it. But his head hurt. His whole body hurt, focused in his chest. 

Remembered the way it had hurt so very badly when Dean had forced him into the wall, when Dean had taken what he’d wanted. He remembered the way it had felt when Brady had done the exact same thing. He remembered the way it had felt to have them over him, blanketing him as they took what they wanted. He’d liked it.

He’d liked it- the idea that he could have that kind of relationship with Dean. That’s why Mary read the guilt in Sam. Because even though Dean still scared him, he couldn’t stop the new tendril of desire that curled low in his stomach at what could have been. And that because of him, Brady was dead. 

Dean looked like a gory mess. Dried trails of blood licked down his cheeks, wiped into rusty stains across the apples of his cheeks and disappeared completely into the dark hairline. He looked like he wore smeared rusty colored make up. His eyes were dull, almost lifeless as they traced over Sam’s face. 

Sam couldn’t look at Dean though. He clenched his eyes shut and thinned his lips, fighting to keep from saying anything. But it didn’t stop the shudder in his shoulders and the hitch in his breath as he sobbed. He couldn’t have stopped the tears even if he’d wanted to. 

He leaned heavy into Dean, wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s waist and dug his nails into the small of his back. He shook with the force of his sobs. He hadn’t wanted to believe that Brady was dead. But the tears… the bloody tears meant that Brady was dead. He’d loved the brunette. Loved the way he’d made him feel not dirty. He’d felt almost normal with Brady. 

“It’s alright, Sammy. I gotcha. You’re alright,” Dean murmured, stroking Sam’s hair. He wrapped his arms around Sam’s head and covered his face, like he was hiding him away. He stroked Sam’s hair and held him tight, let him cry it all away. 

“I know he hurt me, Dean. I know it. And I know he did something that broke me and it’s impossible to fix, but I loved him. He fixed something in me too. I loved him though. He fucked me Dean, but I loved him. I still…” he trailed off in a sob. “I thought he was alive.” 

“I know, Sammy,” Dean sighed. “We’ll be alright, Sammy.” 

Sam nodded into Dean’s chest and just cried. It seemed an eternity before he was cried out, and when he was done, he wanted to just curl up and sleep. He wanted to run, to get away from what he’d just done. He’d cried like a bitch on Dean’s shoulder. He’d proven to Dean that he was just the girl he’d always been called. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, Sammy. It’s been a long day,” he murmured against the top of Sam’s head.

 

They didn’t make it to Bobby’s before dad sent them coordinates that led them to Illinois. To the asylum that strained everything in their relationship. Dean was on his back with eyes that were tinged with desperation as he stared up at Sam, so fucking obedient. 

He felt the rage pouring through him. Felt the shame deep in his stomach. He hated the way it felt. He could feel Dean’s eyes as they traced over the naked skin of his scarred form. He refused to let himself think about it. He refused to believe that he could feel the eyes of his brother, tearing him down. He refused to believe that he could still feel Brady’s hands on his body. 

And then there was Dean. His brother, who had done so much and had been so very monumental in destroying Sam’s life. He aimed. 

“Put the gun down,” Dean growled. His eyes were wide as he looked at Sam. 

“Is that an order?” Sam snarled. 

“More of a friendly request,” Dean shrugged in response. 

“For once in your life, shut your mouth!” Sam shouted angrily. 

“What’re you gonna do, Sam? It’s full of rock shot, it’s not gonna kill me!”

“No, but it’ll hurt like hell,” Sam answered with a sneer. He spat at the ground and cocked the gun threateningly. Sam scoffed dismissively and pulled the trigger. Satisfaction rushed through Sam at the fact that the bastard who’d taken his virginity was suffering. Would be made to pay for what he’d done. He watched impassively as Dean laid prone, his hands curled over his chest. 

“We gotta burn Ellicott’s bones and all this will be over. You’ll be back to normal,” Dean panted softly. His voice strained as he worked to hide the pain.

“I am normal. I’m just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? Because you’re following dad’s orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question?” Sam asked as he gestured widely. He looked disgustedly down at his prone brother. “Are you that _desperate_ for his approval? That’s the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I’m not pathetic like you.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kill me?”

“You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We’re no closer to dad than we were six months ago!”

“Here! Come on, take it,” Dean growled as he pulled his Colt out of his jacket. He shook it at Sam, grip first. “Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt. You hate me that much? You think you can kill your own brother? Then go ahead, pull the trigger. Do it!”

Sam wanted to shout at Dean. How could he be such a fucking hypocrite! He’d basically killed Sam when he’d raped him five years ago. He’d destroyed any semblance of hope that he’d had for future. He’d been destroyed by Dean. He’d been broken in and made ready for Brady.

He held the gun at the ready, his finger poised over trigger. He could do it. He could take revenge for the rape. For the scars dug into his stomach. He could have what he needed. He closed his eyes and he could see Dean, sneering at him over his shoulder as he dug his nails into his lower back as heated and unforgiving iron tore through him. He blinked at his older brother, at the fault for his anger, and pulled the trigger. 

He frowned at the lack of gunfire and looked at the gun in confusion. He aimed again and pulled the trigger. Again. Again. 

“Man, I’m not gonna give you a loaded pistol,” Dean grumbled. He rolled to his feet and smoothly disarmed Sam. It was a quick and effective movement. Dean snarled and brought the grip of the Colt down on Sam’s temple. He pet Sam’s head soothingly and grunted _“Sorry Sammy”_ before he brought the grip back down again. 

Pain exploded through Sam before darkness overtook him.

When he woke up again, Ellicott was gone.

 


	4. High Hopes

 

At Bobby’s house, Sam didn’t know what he was expecting, but what he got wasn’t it. 

“Bring your idjit asses in here,” Bobby growled when Dean cut the engine. He petted the steering wheel twice and then the bench seat as he pulled himself out. “Y’too, Sammy.” 

“It’s Sam,” he responded automatically. He unfolded himself and stood up straight, but it was hell on his cramped muscles. 

“Idjits,” Bobby groused. He stood and sauntered into the house. Bobby gave them both open beers. Sam took a deep swallow. The sooner he finished the watered down beer, the sooner he got the regular shit. Satisfied, Bobby lifted his own beer and relaxed his grip on the Glock on the table. “So, the Impala’s fine, neither ‘un of ya’s dyin,’” Bobby said. He scratched his chin. “Your dad’s still kickin.’”

“Like I said,” Sam muttered. “I just need a break.” 

“You look like hell, boy,” Bobby observed as he gestured at Sam with his beer. 

“Need a break.” 

“Dean, there’s a 327 out in the yard,” Bobby said. “You can salvage it if you make it purr again. Save it for your car.” 

“You rock!” Dean grinned. He tossed back the rest of his beer and shed his extra shirts to head out into the junk yard. 

When they were alone Sam bowed his head and Bobby glared. “Alright, what happened?”

“It’s just been hard getting back into the swing of things. I haven’t hunted in four years.” 

“Gettin’ back in the saddle’s hard, kid.” 

“Yeah. I think Dean wants to do intense retraining,” Sam shrugged. He picked at the label of his bottle with his thumb nail and watched the grain of the table. 

“Alright then,” Bobby nodded. “I got some new texts on demons and some new Latin books that needs categorizing. Haven’t gone through them yet, but you might find something useful.”

“No problem. Filing system’s still the same?” Sam asked as he sat the empty bottle down. 

“Why change something that works?” 

“Thanks, Bobby.”

 

Sam rubbed his eyes gratefully. He looked up at Bobby across the table and smiled to himself when the older man didn’t even move. Sam had been very carefully poring over exorcism rites for what felt like an eternity. But he had been so completely distracted. The whole time he’d been doing research, he’d thought of nothing else. 

He stood, groaned at the feel of his body stretching to full height. He clasped his hands together and lifted them over his head as he worked his back out. 

“What the fuck?” Bobby growled.

Sam hadn’t expected the explicative, but his shirt shifted and it was like everything happened all over again. Bobby saw. Bobby knew the truth.

Sam was a whore.

“Sam,” Bobby spoke softly. “Son, what… when did that happen?” 

“I’ll leave,” Sam whispered. He wrapped his long arms around his stomach and backed up slowly. He fisted his hands in his shirt and turned on his heel to leave. 

“Idjit,” Bobby growled as he grabbed at Sam’s shoulder.

“No!” Sam begged in a hoarse voice. “Don’t… don’t touch me!” 

“Sam,” Bobby said softly. 

Sam gasped a wet breath in and fell to his knees. He bowed his head and clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t touch me, please. Don’t touch me.” 

“Talk to me, boy,” Bobby murmured. He knelt beside Sam and wrapped arms around him. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” Sam sobbed softly. He tightened his arms around himself. “What happened?” 

“It’s… I… I can’t,” Sam whispered. 

“It’s alright,” Bobby sighed. “I get it. Does Dean know?” He waited as Sam nodded slowly. “C’mon,” Bobby ordered softly. Sam sobbed as he was pulled into Bobby’s arms. 

There were monsters and there were human monsters. Sam grunted as Bobby pulled him up and into his arms, a heavy weight against his back. It was intimidating, but this was the Singer Salvage. It been a place he’d felt safe in growing up. A home he’d never had. It had served as a refuge from both his father and his brother. He groaned as he was led out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Bobby repeated. “You ain’t gotta talk about it,” Bobby murmured. He stroked a calloused hand over Sam’s soft hair and pulled him onto the couch beside him. “You take as long as you need.” 

Bobby’s hand in Sam’s hair was rough. It was calloused and hot. Uncomfortable and yet absolutely perfect. Sam wanted to curl into Bobby’s body, hide away in his protective bubble. But he couldn’t. He knew that he couldn’t. He had to face the reality, face what had happened and move on so he could hunt beside Dean.

Today was not that day. 

Weary exhaustion wormed through him and all Sam could do was curl tighter into himself and murmur quickly the only protection he had left. _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregation et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae perditionus…”_

“Damnit kid,” Bobby sighed. “I ain’t a demon.” 

_“Venenum propinare. Vade Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciai hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt. Ab insidiis diabolic, libera nos Domine. Ergo draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam secure tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus, audi nos.”_ Sam sobbed the words into Bobby’s chest until sleep claimed him and he passed out.

 

Dean wiped grease off of his hands on the thighs of his old jeans. They were his best traveling jeans- cotton soft denim. Today, they bore the battle scars of a new 327 engine for his baby girl. He could never have too many extra pieces for her. 

After he’d pulled it out of the lemon, he’d taken the time to clean it up. No piece of shit was gonna be in his baby. When dusk settled over the salvage yard, Dean had called it quits. He wanted food, beer, and time with Sammy. They had a lot of shit to work out, and not enough time at all. 

He pet Rumsfield the vicious guard dog on his way into the house. The lack of anything tantalizing wafting from the house made him grin. He was gonna ride them both hard about being nerds. 

The cheerfulness ran ice cold though when he stormed into the disheveled kitchen. He didn’t hesitate to pull the Colt out of his waistband. “Sammy? Bobby?” 

He imagined the worst, only something truly bad would cause Sam to leave his research so unorganized. Sammy had everything organized- his bookmarks and notes, his clothes, for God’s sake.

“Dean!” Bobby whispered harshly. “Sam’s sleeping,” Bobby nodded. His eyes were large, dark and suspicious as they watched Dean. 

“Did he tell you?” 

“Enough. He thought I was a demon,” Bobby answered softly. 

“Fuck!” Dean growled as he lowered his gun. “He… He can’t hunt like this,” Dean whispered. _‘I need to get him used to being around me again,_ ’ he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. Bobby would want to know what he meant and Dean couldn’t explain that to him.

“Take all the time you boys need,” Bobby murmured, his eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion. He tightened his hold on Sam’s limp body.

 

Sam threw back his shot and turned heavy eyes on his hovering brother. They’d only left Bobby’s house a week ago and a stop in rural fucking Indiana was just another chance for them to screw something up and get drunk. The hotel they’d stopped in had a cowboy motif, hats and horses and cattle decorated the walls. The beds looked like they were carved from rough wood. And the curtains were brown with cacti. Tonight, Sam was feeling incredibly honest. He wanted Dean to know what was lost because of everything. He wanted to drive the point in. Maybe underneath the terror and intimidation and horror, Sam deserved it. Because he was a pervert. 

“You know,” Sam said softly. He decided that for this conversation, he needed to forgo the glass and chug directly from the bottle. His large hand was wrapped around the slender neck of the tequila bottle and lifted it to his lips. He gave a quirked grin to Dean and tilted the bottle up, chugging. “I wanted you. I wanted you to fuck me. I wanted to fuck you. And then, I couldn’t.”

“Sam?”

“Just saying. I wanted the hell out of you. I wanted to suck your cock. Wanted you fucking me all the time. I was fucking sick with wanting your dick.” 

“Sam. Shut up,” Dean ordered softly. He covered his face with his hand, his full lips downturned in a grimacing frown. He covered his eyes, because Sam could always read more emotion in them than in anything else. 

“No. I gotta say this. You hafta know!” Sam shouted. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered to his brother. Like this, when he towered over his brother, Sam felt powerful. “You need to understand why it’s alright. Because I’m a pervert. A disgusting whore. I deserved it.” 

“Damnit, Sam!” Dean shouted. “You fucking idiot! You don’t get it. You don’t understand a damn thing. You were raped, dumbass. You were fucked against your will. Not what you wanted. You didn’t ask for a demon to come and fuck you up. You were so… _fuck,_ Sammy!” Dean shouted. “You never…fuck!” 

Sam blinked slowly. He wanted to understand. “So fucking talk to me!” he shouted. 

“I wanted you too,” Dean said calmly. “But I was never gonna take your virginity.” 

“Fuck you!” Sam sobbed. He hurled the tequila bottle at Dean who dodged it so it smashed into the wall sending amber liquid and shards of glass everywhere before he shuffled sloppily to the room’s bathroom. “You think that shit’s funny? Fuck you, Dean! I fucking hate you sometimes!” 

“Sam!” Dean shouted. It was enough to stop Sam’s tirade. “You were fourteen, you little bitch. Fuckin’ fourteen. It was summer and you were swimming.’ I was playin’ too cool to swim, but I watched. It was… God, it was hard to hide the hard on. And then you pulled yourself outta the pool. You faced away from me, and fuck, your back. I wanted to kiss you. Touch you. Fuck you. Right there in front of God and all.” 

Sam blinked dumbly. His brain was sluggish. And Dean wanted to fucking talk. Figured he would, the asshole. If what he said was true than Dean had been oogling him like that for a long time, before his own crush had developed. 

He stumbled and fell to his knees when he gasped. “Dean?” 

Strong arms wrapped around him and just held him. Panic burned hot in his chest, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. And it was Dean.

“ _Christo_!” he panted. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus omnis spiritus…_ ” 

“Not a demon,” Dean mumbled in his ear. Sam shivered in Dean’s hold. He clinched his eyes shut and didn’t let himself relax until Dean muttered _“Christo”_ into his ear. 

Sam gasped a sob and relaxed into Dean’s arms.

 

Sam groaned as he rolled over. His mouth was dry. His tongue was heavy and his head hurt like somebody had taken liberty with a baseball bat. 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean said softly. “Here,” he ordered, dropping two Advil and a bottle of water onto the table between the beds. 

“God yes,” Sam whimpered. He grunted and pushed himself up to sitting. He swallowed the pills and chased them with a long sip of water. His stomach flipped and he clenched his eyes shut as he fought to keep the urge to vomit down. 

“Lay back down, asshole,” Dean ordered. He wiped a dirty hand down his face and sighed. “You drank yourself stupid, Sam. We have to… eventually, we have to talk about everything.” 

Sam’s breath hitched. What had they talked about on his bender? He’d been actively trying to kill his mind off with alcohol. Being so close to Dean was hard. He was unbelievably tempting, and Sam wanted to, deep in his gut. Eventually, it would have to be dealt with. Sam only hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to have spilled his guts while drinking.

“Lay down. You only slept three or four hours. You’ll feel better if you get some more.” 

Sam curled into himself and wrapped an arm around his stomach and the other across his eyes, hiding the world away. He tensed as the bed dipped with extra weigh on the end. He refused to move, to acknowledge Dean. Anything that was about to happen was up to his brother. 

“We’re gonna have to talk about it. Not right now, but eventually. D’ya mind if I lay down with you?” 

Sam could feel panic as it fluttered in his stomach. He wanted to say no, but he needed to say yes. He gave a soft gasp and nodded his head. Dean took the silent permission and shifted further up the bed. He didn’t undress, wore his sleeping pants and a soft t-shirt. 

Dean curled his body protectively around Sam and slid an arm over Sam’s stomach. It was so very fucking intimate. 

Sam’s skin crawled. He didn’t know what it was. He was both terrified and relieved. As much as he fought it, he found himself relaxing against Dean. And just before sleep recaptured him, Dean’s arms tightened protectively.

 

They were never going to hunt Rawheads again.

Dean was unconscious. White gauze covered his hands, oxygen lines in his nose, an IV in his forearm and heart monitor. Heart attack. There was no hope for a long life because there was too much damage from a powerful electric shock to the heart, which had happened while trying to save those children from the fucking _Rawhead._

Sam finally tore his eyes away from the prone figure and buried his face in his hands. It was too much. He couldn't lose anything else. 

It wasn't fair. So much else had been taken from him. He shouldn't have to lose his brother too. Not when they were just getting their relationship back into order. Demons had taken so much already. He couldn't give anything else.

He wandered until it got chilly beneath the flannel shirt and tee he was wearing. Looking around, he was pleased to see he was close to the no-name motel Dean had chosen, their room rented under the name of Dio. It offered singles for twenty a night, hundred-twenty for a week. He followed the monkey dance to get the room for longer. Mr. Dio needed a little longer in the town. Dean had wanted the chance to work the local bar. 

Sam fell against the bed and curled into himself. His brother was going to die. He was going to lose the only thing he had left.

He pulled his hair and shouted into the blankets. But he couldn't stay there like that. He needed a shower. He needed to research alternative methods, something to save his brother. Anything. 

The water didn't run hot enough. The shower wasn't wide enough. The bathroom didn't have enough ventilation and was too steamy. His razor was broken. His shampoo was empty. The soap was too perfumed. And he just wanted Dean back.

He turned the water off and dried as best as he could before he slipped boxers on. Sweatpants and a tee followed quickly. Even showered and dressed, he didn't feel any better. He ran through a series of quick exercises- push-ups, jumping jacks, stretches, and sit-ups, but he felt too energized. He needed his brother. His paranoia was heightened and he wanted the extra security of Dean. But Dean was dying in a hospital bed alone. He was trapped by wires and sedating medicine, waiting for his heart to give out. It wasn't fucking fair! 

Sam threw the chair that was sitting at the small desk. His lips quirked upwards in satisfaction as the fake wood shattered against the drywall. The papers on the table followed, and the duffle bags, the clothing, guns. He tore the motel room apart. Satisfied with the destruction, Sam curled into a ball in the corner between the bed and fallen over end table. 

His eyes closed and he sighed as he breathed slow and deep. He had to start doing research. He knew things that the doctors didn’t know. He had connections. He could get things done. He just had to breathe, take things slow and make sure he did enough research. 

He would save Dean. 

And Roy LeGrange was as good a start as anywhere.

 

Dean watched Sam. He was throwing them back, glass after glass of the pink liquor he was drinking. He didn't seem to even have a mind for the tab he was currently running up. He didn't care. 

Tonight, Sammy wanted to get drunk. 

So Dean put his own thirst aside and decided to do what he should always do: watch Sammy.

He didn't stop his brother until after his fifteenth drink. "Stop drowning yourself. Eat something."

Sam huffed in frustration and anger. His eyes were ridiculously wet and his cheeks were red. "Y'know, I was thinking," Sammy slurred softly against Dean's shoulder. "Maybe it woulda been easier if I'da died wif mom."

Dean growled to himself as he pulled Sam to his feet. "Shut up," Dean said slowly. "You're full of shit. It wouldn't... what would I have done without you?"

"I 'on't know," Sam slurred. He leaned into Dean and wrapped long arms around Dean's body. "Mighta been bettah."

"Shut up," Dean ordered softly. He dragged his brother out of the bar and to the Impala. "You're riding in the back."

"Y'know, y'were always m'fave-oh-right. I lurved ya. More'an you know."

"I love you too, Sasquatch."

Sam seemed content to let that be enough.

At the hotel, Sammy wouldn't release his tenuous hold. He refused to let Dean move far away from him. He seemed to need his brother. And while it was nice to be needed by Sam again, it was a little overwhelming. Sam was twenty-four and he'd been guardedly hands-off since seventeen.

"Dean?" Sam murmured as he leaned heavily against his brother's shoulder. "I oughta fig're me out."

"Sammy?"

"I'm f'cked. I... I wan' but dun git. I thou'... Thought. Could have summat culdn't have. No happy fer Sammy."

"Damnit, no more drinking for you."

"Wanted you. So much."

"Sammy?"

"Wanteda fuck you," Sam whispered into Dean's neck. He shifted against the hold Dean had and buried himself in his brother. "Wanted ya t'fuck me."

Dean had nothing to say. He wrapped his arms around his brother's form, comforting as best as he could. He was scared and confused and tried to tamp down on the rush of excitement. Apparently, Sammy was open for confessions only when he was drunk. It was painful, but Dean would take it.

"Come on, bathroom and bed," Dean ordered. His voice was soft, conciliatory as he could make it. He didn't want to be uncaring. 

Sammy needed to know that Dean supported him. This was Dean's chance. His opportunity to show Sam that no matter what, he had Sam's back. And this was more than he could have ever known. 

He had never dreamed Sam wanted him.

"I thought... Thought it'as you, when se'enteen," Sam slurred into Dean's shoulder. "I hated you for it."

Dean knew it, logically he'd known that Sam blamed him, and from what he'd heard, what little bit drunken Sam had voluntarily shared, it was bad enough that he'd been raped, but for the rapist to be his brother, the one person he depended on, it had to have torn him up. 

"Come on," Dean sighed softly. "Into bed."

Sam pushed off of Dean's chest and stumbled to the nearest bed. "Don' get it," he complained.

"I get it," Dean sighed. 

He pushed Sam back into the bed and lifted his legs up. With Sam prone, Dean started the slow ritual of getting his little brother undressed. He pulled Sam's tennis shoes off and _tutted_ at the state of them. They were starting to fall apart.

He threw the shoes to the floor and pulled socks off after. Satisfied with that, he climbed onto the bed beside his brother and opened the well-worn jeans. 

"Yes," Sam whimpered in a voice thick with alcohol. 

Dean was a fucking saint; he had to be to resist the temptation presented to him. Sam arched his body up into Dean's tentative touch. The voice that was whiskey rough. Bedroom eyes and parted lips. 

"Not like this," Dean denied. He was hard in his jeans and it throbbed at the denial of such a hot and willing body. 

Sam begged for it with his mouth, with his body, but he wasn't hard. There was no way in Hell he was pushing it. Dean turned his head in respect of Sam as he shivered and curled into a ball and sobbed. 

"Sleep," Dean ordered gently.

 

Sam’s head was pounding. He groaned as he pulled his body into itself. He needed dark and silence and whoever was breathing so loudly to shut the fuck up. He pulled the pillow beneath his head over his eyes and groaned when his head hit the bed. 

“Sammy,” Dean growled, his voice soft and demanding. “Get up and shower.” 

“’M’dyin,’” Sam groaned.

“You’re not dying. You got a hangover,” Dean growled. “Get a shower.” 

Sam grunted as he shifted to the edge of the bed. He forced himself upright and groaned as nausea attacked him. He wasn’t ready to be up and active. He wanted to go back to bed, wanted to fall asleep and forget about everything around him. 

“We’re leaving in an hour,” Dean warned softly. His voice grated on Sam’s ears and he groaned as he forced himself to his feet. The world swam and nausea poured through him. He shuffled toward the bathroom, struggled against the gag reflex. 

The door to the motel slammed shut behind Dean and Sam flinched. Dean was… Sam didn’t understand. He watched his older brother leave and wanted to cry. Dean wasn’t acting like himself. Oh God, he hoped he hadn’t done anything stupid last night. 

He forced himself to stand under the hot spray of water and waited for the relief that it brought him. He needed to have something. He needed a breath of fresh air and he needed to get rid of the murderous headache that was threatening to kill him. He stood with his head bowed under the heavy pressure of the water and breathed slow and deep. 

The nausea was going away, but the sick feeling in his gut that he’d ruined everything between he and Dean wasn’t. He knew he’d been too drunk, knew he’d done something stupid. He just didn’t know what he could have possibly done.

He wanted to cry again. It was a pointless exercise in futility, but it didn’t stop the burning in his eyes. He threw his head back, let the hot water hit his neck and slide down his body. Sam sighed as he showered. It wasn’t worth getting worked up over. Especially considering the fact that he didn’t know what had happened. 

He showered quickly, washed himself efficiently. When he shut the water off, he dried just as quickly and fled the bathroom. His head was foggy and he felt like he was walking at a perpetual angle, but he did feel more alive, so he was grateful for that at least. He had just made it to his bed when he finally looked up. 

Dean was standing there. His green eyes traveled the long path of Sam’s body, his lips crooked as Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek. He sat beneath the window at the small dinette; the light framed him in a shimmery halo. Coffee waited for him on the table. 

“Dean?” 

“Sam,” Dean answered. “I need… I need you to understand something.” 

Sam knew he had to look scared: his eyes were wide as he watched Dean carefully. He hadn’t expected Dean to be back so he hadn’t taken clothes into the bathroom with him. He wasn’t prepared to face Dean naked. He hadn’t been naked around Dean since he was seventeen. Dean hadn’t seen his scars again after he’d helped to patch him up. He struggled to fight the instinctive reaction to cover his stomach. Doing so would mean that he had to move the towel from his hips up, and he wasn’t sure he could cover everything if he did that. He didn’t think he could stand before Dean naked as the day he was born just to cover up the ugly epithet carved into his stomach.

Dean stood and crossed the room. He had his long sleeved t-shirt on, a black t-shirt over it. The sleeves were rolled up showing off the powerful forearms and the scattered small scars that were par for the course in their line of work. He didn’t stop moving until he was nearly nose to nose with Sam, or more, nose to chin. Sam forced himself to not move. He forced himself to stand strong even though inside he was panicking. Was Dean…? He couldn’t be. They had the protective runes carved onto the tops of their feet. 

A strong hand slid impossibly gently over Sam’s cheek. His fingers were teasingly soft and he didn’t stop moving his hand until he cupped the round curve of Sam’s cheek. “I need you to understand me for a minute,” Dean murmured quietly. 

“D-Dean?” Sam stuttered. He wanted to force the hand away from him and he wanted to lean into the touch that was so incredibly familiar and so hot. He needed Dean. He knew that he needed Dean, but this hadn’t been how he’d thought he’d need him. It hadn’t been how he’d thought he’d be able to have him either. 

“I… I love you,” Dean murmured. “I always have, and I need you to know that I always will. I want whatever I can have from you. I know. Sammy, I know that you were hurt. That you were deceived and you were betrayed, but I’m not gonna do that. I would never hurt you, Sammy.” 

Sam couldn’t stop the jerk when a rough and calloused hand slid over his naked hip and came to rest on the small of his back. He gasped a shaky breath in and closed his eyes. The scent of leather and gunpowder and patchouli wafted over him. The heat of Dean’s hands flooded his body from the two small points of contact. Sam lifted his hand and wrapped it around his stomach, desperate to cover the shame he felt. Dean was fucking perfect. He didn’t need this, didn’t need Sam to cling to him and beg him for something that he’d never get. 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered as he took the final step closer that brought their bodies into contact. He could feel Dean against him, could feel the heat of his body, the coolness from outside. “Sammy, I’m going to kiss you.” 

Sam sobbed softly and shook his head almost frantically. He couldn’t make his voice work, couldn’t put a stop to this. He tensed and he tried to step back but the hand on the small of his back stopped him. He gasped a wet breath in and arched his back, pulling his body away from Dean’s as he struggled to find a balance again. 

Dean didn’t listen to him though and Sam couldn’t say that he hated it. Dean’s lips were soft. His eyes guarded and lowered as he watched Sam. There was a warm puff of air across his cheek from Dean’s nose before the lips against his moved just enough to make Sam open his lips. He gasped a soft noise and Dean took the silent invitation. The tip of Dean’s tongue slid into Sam’s mouth, teasing and asking for invitation to do more. 

Sam flicked his tongue against Dean’s tentatively and fisted his free hand in Dean’s shirt. He needed to ground himself and it was the only thing he could hold onto. His body felt like it was on fire. This was what he’d wanted for so long. What he’d needed and he was fucking relieved to finally have it. The rough scrape of Dean’s stubble scratched along Sam’s smooth cheek and he shivered at the hint of desire it sent flickering through him. 

He was paranoid, not dead. 

When Dean pulled back, far too soon for Sam’s taste, and yet not soon enough, Sam stood there panting, his forehead pressed to Dean’s, his hand fisted above Dean’s stomach in the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt. He breathed Dean’s air, his eyes closed as he struggled to come to terms with what had just happened. 

“Sammy, I’m gonna take care of you.” 

Sam gasped a sob as he forced a laugh out. He nodded against Dean’s forehead. He couldn’t move. All he could do was just stand there, clinging to Dean and his promise.

 

Fin.


End file.
